Life Sketches
by Blood Dark Sun
Summary: AU. A behind-the-scenes look at the lives of the supporting characters from "Love and Art"; runs concurrent with that story. If you are new to both, read that first and then this to avoid spoilers. "Love and Art: Book II" is a sequel to both of those and should be read third.
1. How Alfred Met Arthur

_This is not intended to be a standalone, and it won't make much sense if you're not reading "Love and Art." Arthur and Lovino will pop up occasionally, sometimes separately, sometimes together, but this is mainly going to focus on the love lives of Gilbert, Alfred and Feliciano, with some chapters about Ludwig, Matthew and the other characters as well._

_I recommend you finish "Love and Art" first and then read this. It will be less confusing, and there won't be any spoilers that way._

…

**How Alfred met Arthur.**

Alfred _loved_ London. He was having so much fun this summer! Man, he'd really need to thank Mattie for this vacation when he got home. An entire summer in England! Alfred was usually unemployed, but luckily his twin brother was a business whiz and made enough money to treat him to stuff like this. Sure, Matthew had only done it to get Alfred out of his hair for the summer, but…pfft. It was a hell of a lot of fun and he didn't care why Mattie had done it.

He had even spent some time trying to learn a fake British accent. It sounded okay to his own ears, but when his London acquaintances heard it, they'd all laughed so loudly that Alfred had stopped bothering. But every now and then, when he wasn't with them, he tried it out again. He did this now, walking out of the hotel on his way to a movie. "Gor blimey, guv'nor, that's a nice taxicab!" He burst into raucous laughter as a lady on the sidewalk turned to give him a funny look.

Luckily the movie theatre wasn't too far away. He'd been socializing so much over here, and although he was a really energetic guy, there were times (like now) when being alone at the movies sounded like the best idea in the world. He bought his ticket and headed for the refreshment stand. A bucket of popcorn would be perfect right now. Maybe a Coke, too.

Alfred got his popcorn and Coke. He scooped them up and turned away from the counter, and his eyes met the striking green ones of a blond man across the room, maybe just a little older than Alfred. Their gazes locked for a heartbeat longer than necessary before the other man, now blushing furiously, looked away.

All of Alfred's breath left him in a rush. What a _cutie!_ He hadn't been on a date in forever, not since he came to London, not a proper date, with kissing and all that. Well. He was going to follow this guy. Whatever movie he was going to see, Alfred would watch it too, no matter how weak it was. If he could get a date with an English hottie out of it, it'd be well worth suffering through some lame-ass rom com or documentary. Though he hoped it wouldn't come to that. His own ticket was for a heroic action flick.

He kept his eyes on the blond, who kept his eyes on the ground. The man stepped away, towards the screening room. Alfred followed in stealth mode, not wanting to scare him away. He sidled over until he was behind him, keeping about six other theatre patrons between them. Alfred saw the green-eyed man glance around the room eagerly (looking for him? Ooh, he hoped so!) and then, very dramatically, slump his shoulders and trudge into the theatre.

Alfred looked up at the sign. Huh. It _was_ a rom com. Shit. Well, the guy was still pretty cute. He'd follow. He could see his action movie tomorrow night…if he didn't score a date tonight. Alfred slipped into the screening room and looked for the man.

Sweet! He was sitting all alone, without any popcorn or _anything_. Perfect. Alfred boldly strode over to that row and plunked into the seat next to him. "Hiya," he said, grinning.

"H-hello," the British man replied, blushing again, but holding his gaze.

Aww. Alfred just wanted to pinch those rosy cheeks. But he didn't. Not yet. "Are you waiting for someone?"

"You don't waste time, do you?" His accent was so elegant! _That_ was the kind of British accent Alfred wanted to have, not the garbage Cockney thing he'd ended up with. He almost forgot to answer the question because he was thinking about this.

"But you're so cu—so handsome," he finally smiled. "I thought maybe if you didn't have a date we could sit together? My name is Alfred. Alfred F. Jones." He held out his hand. "I'm from America!"

The Englishman snorted and shook hands. His were cool to the touch. "How do you do." He seemed a bit bolder now and smiled back at Alfred. "My name is Arthur Kirkland."

"Well, Arthur Kirkland. Shall we enjoy this romantic movie together, here in the dark?" Alfred waggled his eyebrows and held out the popcorn bucket. Arthur blushed again, pressing his lips tightly together, but nodded – just the tiniest of nods – and turned his face to the screen. After a few moments he hesitantly dipped his hand into the proffered popcorn bucket. So did Alfred, but he took care not to touch Arthur's hand, yet.

Neither one of them said anything more. By the time the lights went down, they'd finished the popcorn. When the previews had ended and the actual movie started, Alfred reached over and grabbed Arthur's hand.

And Arthur let him.

Damn! Alfred felt like doing cartwheels in the aisle. This vacation was getting better every _day!_

…

_Next up: How Feliciano met Ludwig._


	2. How Feli Met Ludwig

**How Feli Met Ludwig.**

_Ve._ These business trips were always so exhausting. Feliciano had to sit close to the front of the room, because his hearing was a little off. But he would look silly with a hearing aid, so he didn't wear one. Today's talk was about rising market prices in North America; six European companies were meeting to discuss better ways to market their products in the United States and Canada. Feli sighed and doodled a plate of pasta on his note pad. _Ve._

The meeting eventually broke for lunch. It was being held in Lausanne, and while he liked to try foreign foods, he was not comfortable being in Switzerland. Something about the culture always rubbed him the wrong way; he was nervous here. The hundred or so meeting attendees filtered into the large hotel restaurant. Tired, but optimistic, Feli looked for a seat before heading to the buffet.

Oh. There was an empty seat next to that nice German man he'd met yesterday. What was his name again? Oh, Ludwig, that's right. Like Beethoven. Feliciano giggled a little and debated whether to sit there. Ludwig had helped him with his briefcase when the latches had gotten stuck in the open position. Afterwards, blushing furiously, he'd finished the meeting without once meeting the Italian's eyes. That was kind of sad. Ludwig had beautiful blue eyes.

Why not? Feli shrugged and moved to sit next to him. It was always good to have big strong friends.

"Is this seat taken, ve?"

Ludwig looked up at him and began blushing again. Feli wondered why. He also wondered whether Ludwig remembered his name. But he wouldn't ask.

"N-no. You may certainly sit there," the tall blond offered.

Feliciano sat down happily. "It's nice to see a familiar face today. There are so many people here! Ve, I'm really finding it difficult to concentrate."

"Ahem. I do know these meetings can be difficult, when people would rather bicker than focus." He drank a little seltzer water. "Have you – have you been with your company for a long time? You look so young." Ludwig immediately turned his head away and shaded his eyes with his hand. "Forgive me, please. That was a rather boorish comment."

"It wasn't boorish at all! Yes, I'm very young, but they tell me I'm doing a good job, so, they keep sending me to these meetings, ve." He sighed. "I don't like it much, but if that's the price of employment, I'll do it."

"I agree." Ludwig seemed to be all right now. "Are you heading to the buffet?"

"Oh! Yes, yes, I am. Is there anything you need?" Feli stood up.

"N-no. Thank you. It is most generous of you to offer."

The Italian shrugged and headed to the buffet, daintily filling a plate with Swiss odds and ends. There was a delicious-looking salad with endive, and of course the obligatory cheese fondue, which he ignored. They always seemed to use such cheap cheese in these fondues.

Back at the table, he noticed that Ludwig was staring down at his empty plate. "Ve, I really would have brought you something, if you'd asked," he told the man. "I don't want you to starve!" He put on a cute grin and then sat down to eat.

Ludwig kept mostly silent for the rest of the meal. Feliciano briefly wondered whether he'd done something to offend him, and then decided that was silly.

The blond still hadn't spoken when luncheon had ended. "Are you all right, Ludwig?" he asked. Perhaps he was sick?

"I'm – I'm fine, thank you, Feliciano," he said, smiling, but turning red again.

Aha! He did remember Feli's name! Feli was unreasonably happy, realizing that.

The meeting attendees left the restaurant and headed back into the meeting room.

…

During the whole of the afternoon session, Feliciano kept sneaking peeks at the German man, and kept catching his eye as the blond stared at him! He wondered whether he had spilled something on his shirt. No. Well, Feli had no idea, so he wouldn't waste time worrying about it.

…

"Would you – care to have dinner with me?" Ludwig's cheeks were a pretty shade of pink, and he looked so cute, like a big, shy boy! Of course Feli said yes. It was much better than getting room service and eating alone in his room, as he'd been doing all week. Much better than dining alone in the hotel restaurant.

"Yes, please, ve! Where should we go?" He felt excited, like a child being offered a treat. Switzerland daunted him so much, and yet, here was this big, strong friend, going to take him out to dinner and protect him, too!

"There's a little café a few blocks away where we won't be disturbed, or we could walk around and look for a place you might like better –?"

"Sure, that sounds great to me! Let me go put my, ha ha, briefcase away, ve, and we can go."

…

"I suppose your – your significant other gets a bit distressed when you have to go out of the country for meetings," Ludwig offered at dinner.

"Ve, I haven't had a girlfriend in a while. I meet a lot of cute girls, but work is so demanding sometimes. It's hard to really be a considerate boyfriend when I have to keep dropping everything to leave the country."

Ludwig sighed. "I know what you mean." He drank some wine and then mumbled, "I haven't had a boyfriend in a while, either." The blue eyes looked all around the room – anywhere, in fact, but at Feli.

"You have _boyfriends_, ve? Wow, that's so exciting! I never met any man who had boyfriends before. What's it like?"

This bubbly comment seemed to put Ludwig quite at ease. He stopped blushing almost immediately and smiled at the younger man. "It's not much different from having a girlfriend, I suppose. If you – if it's someone you are interested in, and care about, then it's easy to be together."

"Ve, I suppose." Feli grew thoughtful as he ate his pasta. He was so happy to have found a pasta restaurant in Lausanne! And he was very happy that Ludwig was nice enough to agree to eat here. Very considerate.

Ludwig didn't talk for a little while, concentrating on his food, and Feli let his mind wander. He'd bet Ludwig made a great boyfriend, whether he was dating a man or a woman. He was _so nice!_ Really taking such good care of him, even though they'd just barely met.

Then he spent some serious time thinking about what it would be like to date Ludwig, ve. This made him a little uncomfortable, so he stopped thinking about that and focused on the food.

Here, he realized that Ludwig hadn't been speaking at all, and neither had he. That wasn't very polite! He apologized.

"It's quite all right, Feliciano. It was a long day of meetings, and we both have a lot to think about." Ludwig smiled at him again, and Feli was happy to see that. The blond always looked so uptight. Feliciano liked making him smile.

"You may call me Feli, if you like! It's what my parents and friends call me, ve." This reminded him that Lovi was due for a trip next month.

"Feli?" Ludwig seemed intrigued. "It's a very – very cute nickname," he blushed again.

Feliciano blushed a little too. "Ve, thank you." He decided to change the subject. "Which company do you work for, anyway? I don't think you ever said."

"Kraft. Of course they are an American company already, and I'm here mostly as an observer. They don't need to worry about market share, although there is talk of branching out and bringing some of their European brands to the North American market."

Feli nodded. "Yes, ve, I can see why your company would be interested in this kind of a meeting."

Talk continued about business and meetings, which was kind of depressing, but Feliciano dealt with it. He wanted to make Ludwig blush some more!

…

While they walked back to the hotel, he complained about the cold. "Ve, at least it's never this cold in Rome."

"You live in _Rome_?" Ludwig sounded baffled. "That's wonderful."

"I do love Rome. I grew up in Turin, but of course the better work opportunities were in Rome, so I moved there. It is a wonderful place."

"Yes, but I meant, uh – " Ludwig coughed and looked out to the dark horizon. "I…live in Rome as well. I thought maybe – " He interrupted himself.

"Ve! We can be friends in Rome, too!" Feli jumped into the air. "We can eat real pasta together! _Veeee~_!"

"Yes." Smiling, Ludwig put a hand on his companion's shoulder. "Yes, we can."

…

_The only reason I gave Feli a slight hearing problem is because I have trouble understanding him in the anime!_

_Ludwig seems to be a bit more Holy Rome here than I'd intended._

_Next up: Gilbert makes a friend._


	3. Gilbert Makes a Friend

**Gilbert Makes a Friend.**

"Gilbert! Hey, man, how are you!"

When the albino heard this, he turned to find the source. Awesome, it was Alfred! His friend ran across the grass near the Washington Monument, yelling, and picked Gilbert up before he could stop him. "Come on over, Arthur!" the blond yelled over his shoulder.

"Kesesese! I haven't seen you in so long," Gilbert told him. "Put me down, you steroidal oaf." He punched Alfred in the shoulder.

Alfred put him down. "I was visiting Britain all summer. But I'm back now."

Another man joined them. Gilbert looked him over.

"Gilbert, this is my new English boyfriend Arthur. Arthur, this is my old friend Gilbert. Arthur just moved to Washington! To be with me!" Alfred beamed.

The two shook hands. "Pleased to meet you, Gilbert," Arthur said, with a little blush.

"Wow, awesome accent! Very classy. How'd you land somebody so classy?" Gilbert elbowed Alfred and started cackling again.

Arthur cracked a smile. "I wonder that myself, sometimes."

But Alfred didn't respond to this. "Aw, shut up, Gilbert. You know I can be classy when I have to, haha. What are you doing today, anyway? Playing soccer?"

"Just hanging out. I was supposed to meet some guys from work to play, but nobody showed up." He bounced the ball around with his foot, like a hacky sack, while they talked.

"Too bad we're in jeans. We'd play. Right, Artie?"

"Please, Alfred, don't call me _Artie._ It's Arthur." The Englishman looked away.

"Right! Haha, sorry, I keep forgetting. Well, come on, Gilbert! Let's go find a brew pub or something and have a chat. I really haven't talked to you in forever."

"Good idea! Nobody else is showing up. Might as well."

…

Over drinks and snacks Gilbert learned a little more about Alfred's summer vacation and his romance with this Artie. Arthur. Whatever. The guy had moved from London to Washington just to be with Alfred? Kesesese, his old friend was doing all right for himself. Arthur was pretty cute.

"So what's your love life like these days, Gilbo?"

"Ah, you know, nothing too serious. It's tough in the summertime. Lots of people want to go out, but nobody can be serious about having to go to work the next day. I've only had four dates this week! Completely unawesome."

"Four dates in one week?" Arthur blurted out.

"Gilbert goes out with anybody who asks," Alfred said proudly. "He's got a ton of girlfriends and boyfriends."

"Not true, Alfie, not true at all; none of them are girlfriends or boyfriends, really. I just go on dates," he explained to Arthur. "I don't have relationships."

"Good to know," the Brit said noncommittally, making both the others laugh.

"So do you have a job yet, or what?" Gilbert drank some beer.

Arthur nodded. "Yes, I – I have a little job working as a busboy at a diner, but I'm an artist by trade."

"You paint things? How cool. Will you paint a picture of me?"

"If you like. I don't mind. Come to the diner sometime; after I'm done working we can find a place and I'll sketch you." Arthur laughed.

"Is he any good?" Gilbert asked Alfred with a grin.

Alfred didn't answer, and Arthur began fiddling with the forks on the table. "Alfred hasn't ever seen any of my art," Arthur finally said.

Wow. Arthur was too shy to show him? Maybe he wasn't any good.

"Ah, come on, get another beer, you know I'm bad with art and shit, no big." Alfred clapped Arthur on the back. "Then we should get going if we're going to get the train back to your place. We're going to Kings Dominion tomorrow," he told Gilbert. "Want to go?"

Hm. So they weren't living together. This relationship was really…interesting. "Sure, I don't have any other plans. What time?"

"Pick you up at eight? We want to get there right when it opens. Artie's never been to an American amusement park before."

"Kesesese! You'll love it. I'll teach you how to play skeeball."

"What's skeeball?"

Alfred and Gilbert embarked on a technical explanation of skeeball.

"Sounds easy enough," Arthur said, finishing his beer. "Well, git? If we're really going to go that early, we should get moving. I'll need to get to sleep early tonight." He blushed a little. Gilbert assumed, from that blush, that they were sleeping together. Well, that made sense. You didn't just pull up your life and move halfway around the world because you thought some guy was _cute_. Though Gilbert never slept with anybody. It made too many problems the next day. Easier just to ignore it all.

"Yeah, all right, let's hit the road. See you tomorrow morning, Gilbo!" Alfred threw some cash on the table and the two blonds left the bar, leaving Gilbert alone to think about all this, and to finish his beer.

…

_Next up: Feliciano's first date with a boy!_

_It's kind of funny. I like America in the anime, but every time I put him into a chapter, he turns into a jerk!_


	4. Feliciano's First Date with a Boy!

**Feliciano's First Date with a Boy!**

"Whoo, am I nervous, ve. I don't know how this is going to go!" Feliciano was talking to his reflection as he adjusted his outfit. He had a date tonight. Normally, _normally_ the chipper and cheerful Feli would not be daunted by a date with _any_ woman.

But tonight he was not dating a woman.

After their return to Rome, he and Ludwig had spent the occasional evening together, playing checkers, or cooking together, even watching and discussing old WWII movies together. And while Feli had kept Ludwig's comments about boyfriends in the back of his brain, he'd never seriously expected his new friend to ask him for a date. A _date!_ Not _Feli_, ve.

But last week, blushing and unable to meet Feliciano's eyes, Ludwig had asked. Feli's brain had panicked and he'd almost blurted out "no" right away.

Then he'd taken a few seconds to think. Ve, Ludwig had really turned into such a good friend already, after the few short weeks they'd known each other. He hadn't tried anything unsavory, and he was really the most polite man. Feli had asked him for a few moments to think about it. That had seemed to be far more than Ludwig expected, and he'd eagerly agreed.

Feli had closed his eyes and thought about it. He'd thought about it some more. In the end he'd concluded that it really couldn't hurt. He trusted Ludwig; they would have fun, no matter what. And – and it might be kind of interesting to kiss a boy – a man – if it came to that. "Ve!" he'd announced after his little thinking spree. "I will go on a date with you, Ludwig! Where will you take me?"

It had been comical to see the tall blond's jaw drop, although Feliciano had managed to refrain from laughing; that wouldn't be polite. Ludwig had suggested dinner and a movie, a kind of basic date, and Feli had agreed.

And tonight was the date.

"Ve," he said to his reflection again, nervously trying to tie his tie. He wanted to look nice for Ludwig. He knew they were friends, but what if he was a bad boy-date? That would be very disappointing. Girls were always telling him how wonderful it was to date him. He'd feel terrible if he ruined this date for Ludwig, ve.

A little voice kept warning him that he might lose Ludwig as a friend, if this date – or possible future dates – didn't go well, but he decided he'd deal with that later. If it ever came to that.

…

_Next up: Ludwig's view of the date._

_Yes, the chapter title deserves an exclamation point._


	5. Ludwig's View of the Date

**Ludwig's View of the Date.**

"Ahem." Ludwig took a deep breath before knocking on the door of Feliciano's apartment. This was the first time he'd been here; all their other times together had been in public or at Ludwig's condominium. This was a nice building in a good location, which reassured him. The young Italian was so attractive, and so enjoyable to spend time with. Ludwig was very much afraid of a misstep tonight. He didn't want to lose his new friend by being too pushy, so he intended to keep himself in check all along the way.

Feli answered the knock. He looked adorable in a dark suit and tie. Ludwig was glad he'd dressed nicely, too. "Ve, hello! Come in."

He entered the apartment and looked around at the complete _mess_! "Were you burgled or something?" He scratched his head, puzzled.

"What? Oh, no, ve, I'm just a total slob. Let me find my coat." The Italian rummaged around in a pile of discarded clothing until he came up with a lightweight coat. Before he could slip into it, Ludwig hastened to hold it for him. "Thank you! That's so nice of you."

"I – I made reservations for dinner at a little place I frequent. I hope you will like it."

"Is it a German restaurant? I didn't know there were any of those in Rome, ve."

Ludwig blushed. "I don't believe there are any in Rome. No. This is an Italian restaurant. I hope you like it."

"Ve, well, I guess we'll see. Are you ready to go?"

The blond turned his head away from the messy living room with a shudder. "Yes. Yes, I am." Feli gestured for him to lead the way and they left the apartment. Ludwig, a compulsive neat freak, tried to put the image of the living room right out of his head.

…

"They have dancing here? Ve, I've never been here before," Feli admitted. "How did you find the place?" They'd been seated and ordered their appetizers. Ludwig was carefully watching his date for any signs of nerves, but so far Feliciano had been his cheerful and equable self.

"Just wandering around one evening. When I first moved to Rome. I didn't know anyone, so I spent my evenings going out and looking for new places, trying to meet people. It was a little dull socializing with people from work all the time."

"Ve, I totally understand that. Do – do you dance?" he then asked.

Ludwig smiled down at his blushing companion. "If you would like to dance, I certainly don't mind. I do dance, but it's been a while. However, I would not like to put you into an uncomfortable position by asking you to dance. If you would like to, then please let me know?" He hoped that would be a suitable compromise.

"Good idea, Ludwig! I'll do that, ve."

…

The two of them had a very good time throughout dinner, although Feliciano did not ask him to dance. In truth, this "date" wasn't very different from their usual evenings together, except that it was a little more formal, and of course, the word "date" was being carefully avoided. Ludwig sighed. He found his mind frequently wandering to the idea of kissing the younger man – and then being jolted back to reality by the idea of kissing him in the middle of that sloppy apartment! Ludwig needed to focus.

"Did you still want to go see the movie?" he asked. Perhaps a darkened theatre would allow him to get closer, without being too pushy or overbearing. And of course, theatres were neat and clean.

"Why don't we walk around the city together instead? The weather is still pretty nice, and there's a full moon, ve."

Ludwig was pleasantly surprised. "That would be delightful, Feliciano." After paying the bill, he offered his arm to the Italian, who took it.

Outside, he cast his mind around for a suitable topic of conversation and was astonished to hear his companion ask, "Ludwig, ve, what is really the difference between this date and the times we have spent together before this?"

"Well, you – you're holding my arm, for one thing," Ludwig stammered, not quite certain how else to respond to this question.

Feliciano's laugh bubbled up. "Ve, that is completely true!" He squeezed Ludwig's arm.

The blond couldn't help himself; he laughed a little, too. All his business associates were so stuffy, but Feli – he was like a breath of fresh air. "Ah, you know, Feliciano, even if it doesn't work out as a date between us, I'm just so happy to spend time with you. You make me feel so lighthearted again."

The younger man smiled up at him in the moonlight. "That's good, ve. You shouldn't be so serious all the time."

They both kept smiling as they walked along. Ludwig was lost in thought about how fun his new friend was, and he almost missed it when Feliciano said calmly, "But if we're on a date that means you're going to kiss me, right, ve?"

Ludwig's eyes opened alarmingly wide. "I, er, well, that is, not if you don't want me to," he waffled. "But yes, on a date, it is what one would expect." He didn't know what else to say about this.

Three steps later Feli stopped walking and looked up at him. His voice grew soft. "Well, Ludwig, you know, if this is to be a proper date, then you really should kiss me, ve. Unless you don't want to?" He bit his lip.

"Of – of course I want to. I – have been very attracted to you since we first met in Switzerland. But I really do not wish to make you uncomfortable." It was almost painful for Ludwig. Was the other man teasing him? Taunting him?

"I don't think I'd be uncomfortable," Feli considered, beginning to walk again. "You're a very good friend, very considerate and smart."

Considerate and smart. Wonderful.

"And of course, you're an exceedingly good-looking man, ve," Feli went on, surprising Ludwig. "I think I'm modern and flexible enough to date a man, you know, but I have no experience with it at all. You would have to take care of me, ve."

"I would!" Ludwig blurted out. Oh, _Scheisse_, why was he feeling so rustic tonight? "I always endeavor to be considerate to my friends as well as my boyfriends," he went on, more formally.

Feli laughed again, a little bit. "Ludwig. Please relax, ve. You're my friend, and that's good. Why don't we just enjoy the rest of our walk, and if you feel like kissing me good night, then we can try it. All right?" He tilted his head and gave Ludwig a very cute glance. "And if not, then…not."

"Yes," Ludwig agreed. "I can do that."

"Ve!" Feliciano let go of him and jumped happily in the air. "Come on, Ludwig! Let's walk back to my place!"

…

_Next up: Ludwig meets a very important person._


	6. Ludwig Meets a Very Important Person

**Ludwig Meets a Very Important Person.**

"_Chigi!_ You've _got_ to be joking, Feli. You're joking, right? Tell me you're joking, dammit."

"Ve, Lovi, why are you so angry? No, I'm not joking. Ludwig and I have been dating for about a month now. It's fun! He's big and strong and has lots of interesting ideas about where to go for dates."

"I can't believe this," Lovino growled, rubbing his hand over his face. "I cannot believe that my fucking best friend is dating a _guy_!"

"Ve, I really don't see what the problem is, Lovi. You know the times are changing. Why shouldn't I take love where I can find it?" Feliciano turned a mock-innocent face to his agitated friend. He knew it would be difficult to get Lovino to accept this, but he intended to do everything necessary to make it happen. Lovi and Ludwig were his two best friends now, and he wanted them to be good friends with each other, too, ve. He was sure this would be a very fun evening, once Lovi got over this.

"You _l-love_ him?" Lovi sank back onto the couch and groaned. "This was a bad business trip to begin with, and you're not making it any better." He closed his eyes. "And he's _German. _A fucking potato eater. You know they have no class, idiot."

Feli decided to ignore that last comment. "Well, I don't really know if I love him yet," he admitted instead, "but, ve, wouldn't it be nice? You and I have had so many girlfriends, but neither one of us has ever really been in love." He sighed dreamily. "It would be so nice to be in love."

Lovi didn't answer.

"Are you dating anyone?"

"No, dammit. I'm tired of all the fortune hunters. Just broke up with another one last month. I've decided I'm going to be celibate for the rest of my life. No damn dates again, ever."

Feli burst into laughter. "I'll believe that when I see it, ve! Come on. We're meeting him at our favorite restaurant."

"Dammit," Lovi grumbled again, but came along.

…

"Ludwig, this is my best friend, Lovino Vargas. Lovi, this is my boyfriend, Ludwig Weilschmidt."

Hmm. Feli's friend looked a lot like Feli himself, only a bit surlier. "How do you do," Ludwig said formally, extending his hand.

Lovino shook his hand politely. "Ni-nice to meet you," he replied. But he didn't say anything else.

The hostess led them to their table. Feliciano handed Lovino the wine list. "Why don't you choose, Lovi?"

"Thanks. It's always easier to find good wines here than in Washington." He perused the wine list with a bit of a frown.

After they'd ordered, Ludwig tried to make conversation. "Feliciano tells me you have several businesses in Europe. Does it take a lot of your time, traveling on business?"

This innocuous question had an alarming effect – Lovino turned to Feli and barked, "Do you tell him everything, bastard?"

_Bastard?_ Had Ludwig heard right?

But if he had, it certainly wasn't offending Feliciano. "Ve, Lovi, don't worry about it. I just wanted Ludwig to know a little about you before the two of you met! That's all." He patted Lovino's hand.

Ludwig tried again. "'Lovi' is an interesting nickname. I've never heard it before."

"Nobody but Feli is allowed to call me that," Lovino growled without looking up.

He was taken aback. It had merely been a conversational gambit! "How do you like living in Washington?"

"Dammit!" Lovino yelled, startling Ludwig and making Feli sigh. Feliciano patted his friend's hand again.

"Calm down, Lovi. It's just a question."

"A stupid question."

Ludwig was quite distressed. He had no idea why Lovino might be so upset. Jet-lag? At this point he was afraid to say anything else at all. He decided to keep his mouth shut for the rest of the meal.

…

When dessert arrived, the musical ensemble began to play and Feliciano jumped up. "Ve, Ludwig! Time to dance!" Then he turned to Lovino. "Whoops. I'm sorry, Lovi. Do you mind if Ludwig and I dance?"

"Cheh, I don't care, just don't expect me to do any fucking dancing."

"Since you don't have a date, no one would expect you to dance," Ludwig pointed out, earning a very fierce glare from Lovino.

"Bastard," he thought he heard him snarl, but Feli was already dragging him away to the dance floor.

As they danced, Ludwig asked about this. "He seems like a very angry young man."

"Ve. Lovi has had a tough life. He told me tonight he had to break up with another girlfriend because she was a fortune hunter."

"I'm very glad you never decided to date him, or you and I might never have gotten together." Ludwig beamed at his petite boyfriend.

"Lovi would never date a man, ve. He's had to hide from publicity all his life. He would never give the press something like that to talk about." Feli sighed. "Let's just dance. Lovi's always like this, and I don't mind, because he's my best friend. Well, besides, you of course, ve!"

"I'm happy you think of me that way, Feliciano," Ludwig told him truthfully, and they finished the dance. "I promise I'll do my best to be friends with your friend."

Though that seemed like a very tall order, at the moment.

…

_By the way, in this universe Gilbert and Ludwig are not related, which is why I used Beilschmidt for Gilbert and Weilschmidt for Ludwig._

_Next: Alfred makes a decision._


	7. Alfred Makes a Decision

**Alfred Makes a Decision.**

Alfred lay alone in his bed smiling, his hands rubbing the bruises on his arms and chest. He'd given just as good as he'd got from the tall Russian man - Ivan - he'd met at the club tonight.

Arthur had been kind of prissy lately and this afternoon they'd had another fight. Damn it! Artie moved to Washington to be with him, right? Why was he always trying to schedule extra work time?

So Arthur, in a snit, had flounced off to work, and Alfred, seething, had stormed off to a nightclub he knew.

The tall man had kept his eye on Alfred for a long time before approaching him. Alfred had been at first defiant - he wasn't going to get involved with anybody else, not just because he and Artie had had another stupid fight. He'd go to Artie's little apartment later, just like always, and Arthur would make it up to him in all those delicious little ways he knew so well...

But the man had continued to smile in a way Alfred thought was sort of predatory - and sort of seductive, too. He forgot about Arthur as the man stepped close and murmured an invitation into his ear. The timbre of his Russian-accented voice was so distinct and unusual that Alfred had actually shivered.

From that moment he'd been lost. He'd accompanied Ivan back to his shabby but clean little garden apartment, where they'd pleasured and abused each other all night long. A tiny nagging voice kept popping into Alfred's head and saying "What about Arthur?" But Alfred had stopped listening to that little voice as soon as he'd left the club.

And now, at home and all alone, he ran his hands over the bruises and smiled again, thinking about Ivan's extraordinary invitation.

The Russian was coming off a bad relationship with a Latvian ballet dancer and planned to move to California to start life afresh. He'd asked Alfred - shyly, which had been so surprisingly endearing - to run away with him.

An adventure like this didn't come along often.

Alfred lay awake, thinking. On the one hand there was steady old Arthur, who was so sweet when they weren't fighting. And he was so beautifully submissive at times. Alfred liked that a lot. And Arthur _had_ moved to Washington just to be with him. That had to count for something.

On the other hand, the chance of a bold adventure with the mysterious Ivan. This whole idea sounded really cool, not just because of California. Ivan and Alfred had been much more evenly-matched in bed, which was a pretty big consideration. It kind of shocked Alfred. It also shocked him how much he liked it. Alfred didn't normally let anybody get the upper hand with him, though when Artie begged him in that special way, sometimes he'd give in. He'd _liked_ competing with Ivan for dominance. It lent a spice to sex that he hadn't ever known.

So...what if he did run off with Ivan? Well, Mattie would take care of the rent and all that shit. And Alfred was still unemployed, so he didn't have to worry about quitting a job. Really, the only problem was Arthur.

With a rare bit of insight Alfred realized that if he was even thinking about the Ivan idea a tiny bit, it meant he wasn't as committed to Arthur as he'd thought.

Arthur would do all right for himself. He had a steady job, a place to live, and friends from the diner to help him out. He'd be all right. Alfred was sure of it.

Then he spent some time trying to picture the scene when he'd tell Arthur about this decision. Shit. Breakups were such a pain in the ass. Maybe he'd just leave without telling him?

Huh. That wasn't very gentlemanly. He knew Arthur would think that. Probably Mattie would too. But the alternative was a big fight. Arthur would yell at him, and maybe even cry. Alfred didn't want to deal with that.

He thought about this some more.

Then he picked up his telephone and made a call.

...

_Next up: Gilbert visits a strip club._


	8. Gilbert, Not a Nude

_I must apologize to you all. The "Gilbert goes to a strip club" chapter is not until later. I was on vacation when I wrote the last chapter and didn't have my timeline with me. Without further ado I give you…_

…

**Gilbert, Not a Nude. **(Arthur Kirkland, Conté crayon on Ingres paper, 2010)

"I do like your place," Gilbert said, "but I wish it were in a better area. It worries me about you sometimes."

Arthur unlocked the door and the two of them walked into his little apartment. "Eh, well, don't worry about me. I'm not a bloody baby. One of these days I'll move out to a better place." He was acting very cheerful, but Gilbert thought Arthur might still be feeling kind of low. Last month they'd both had a panicky two weeks, because neither of them had been able to reach Alfred. Was he hurt? Was he in danger? There was no sign of life at his apartment.

But no. A few weeks ago Arthur had gotten a cheerful phone message from Alfred. Gilbert had been with him when he'd punched the button on the machine, and his heart had frozen when he'd heard Alfred's callous words.

"Hey Artie! I decided to move to California. Met somebody. You know that instant attraction shit? It really happens sometimes. He's Russian. You'll be all right, won'tcha? Ha ha ha! Sure you will, you're a smart guy. Best of luck! See ya, I'll be in touch!"

Arthur had paled dangerously and excused himself from the room, but had come back out almost immediately, acting almost feverishly cheerful. Gilbert, very worried, had dragged him out to dinner, where they'd talked about the whole Alfred situation in depth. The albino had pointed out that, yes, Alfred was a selfish dick, and had been one for years, which is why Gilbert had never gotten involved with him.

"Well, thanks for that late-breaking news, wanker."

"Stupid. You were already in Washington before I met you. Wouldn't have done any good to tell you at that point; you probably wouldn't have believed me anyway."

"Hah. Maybe I would have. Things weren't always rosy."

The two of them had spent a long time together that night, and Gilbert had begun to feel it was kind of his responsibility now, to look after Arthur. He'd made sure to include the blond in at least one social event a week, whether it was playing Frisbee on the Mall, drinking with Gilbert's bank cronies, or just a quiet casual dinner somewhere.

But, you know, Arthur seemed to be taking it well. He wasn't mopey, and he didn't do anything stupid like drink to excess or try to pick up strangers or anything. He was a pretty level-headed guy. Gilbert was happy they'd gotten to be friends so easily. Kind of cool, really. When he thought about it, he realized he was already better friends with Arthur than he'd ever been with Alfred.

Tonight Arthur was finally going to sketch him. Kesesese! He was so excited. Gilbert loved being the center of attention. He was going to make Arthur do a really spectacular drawing, maybe even turn it into a big fancy painting. It would be so awesome if he painted a good painting of Gilbert and then somebody bought it. "Kesesese!" He just couldn't control himself.

"Settle down, git. Do you have any ideas about how you want to do this?"

"Nah. How about a nude?" Gilbert started cackling and Arthur, despite himself, snorted in laughter.

"No nudes, Gilbert. I don't think I could draw you nude without laughing the whole time."

"What are you saying?" But Gilbert was laughing, too.

Eventually they got him settled on the couch, reclined on his back with his head turned towards Arthur. "This won't take long. You have good proportions," Arthur said absently, sticking his tongue out as he sketched.

"Kesesese, you should really see the awesome five meters sometime." He pretended to fiddle with the zipper on his pants.

"Please sit still," Arthur responded, as if he hadn't seen or heard this.

Gilbert spent the rest of the evening alternately posing, telling dirty jokes, and otherwise trying to break Arthur's concentration, but it didn't work. "Listen, Artie! How much longer is this going to take? I need a beer."

Arthur sighed. "Grab a beer, wanker, there's a whole fridge full." He pushed his messy hair out of his eyes and set the sketch materials aside. "Want to see?"

"You're done already? Sure." The albino looked at the sketch. "Wow! This is really good! I suck at art, but at least I know what I like."

"That's good. You're a good model." Arthur went to the fridge to pull out some beer.

When he came back with the bottles, Gilbert fiddled with his zipper again. This time Arthur noticed. "Git. Keep it zipped, please."

"Wet blanket, I tell you."

"Tosser. Drink your beer and I'll finish the sketch."

"Yeah. All right." Gilbert took the beer to the couch. "Hey, this – uh – this might be kind of an awkward question…"

"Go ahead, ask," Arthur answered, in a very weary voice.

"Want to go to Kings Dominion sometime, when the new season opens? Just us?"

Arthur blinked. "I'd love to go. You know I can't just avoid every place I've ever been with him. I'd pretty much have to move back to London!"

"I'm really proud of you." Gilbert hopped off the couch and came to give him a little hug. "I really am."

"Thanks. Now shut it and sit down, or we'll be here all night."

"Kesesese!"

…

_Next up: The Kings Dominion Day._

_Also, I couldn't resist giving this chapter a fake "Love and Art" title. _


	9. Kings Dominion

**Kings Dominion.**

"Look, let's not talk about my job interview, git. You might jinx it. Tell me about your love life," Arthur laughed, settling deeper into the passenger seat. "You always have so many interesting stories to tell, it's a bloody miracle you can keep everybody straight!"

"Kesesese! Well, there is nothing really unusual going on. I mean, yeah, busy as hell with all my dates," and here Gilbert waggled his eyebrows, not taking his eyes from the road, "but nothing really _new_." He sighed. "Sometimes I wonder if I'm just going to float through life like this."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, what about finding the right one, and all that? What if I just end up all alone, a bitter old git?" Gilbert started laughing.

So did Arthur. "Eh. You'll find someone. It'll probably surprise you when it does."

"Huh. Probably."

Gilbert then went on to tell Arthur about some of his dates. He'd recently been trying something new to take the pressure off himself, which was making all his dates do all the work, picking the venue, making reservations, driving when needed. He liked this. "I feel like royalty, or some kind of celebrity! All I have to do is come out the door of my apartment, and someone is there to whisk me off to a fun date. It's awesome. All I have to do is be charming company, and if it's a girl, pay for the date!"

"You're so old-fashioned. Why not make the girls pay?"

"Arthur! I would never have suspected that someone from sour old England would be so progressive. But that's beside the point. Most girls over here don't earn as much as the men, so I'm just doing them a little favor. After all, they did make all the arrangements. Kesesese, Clover was great last week. She took me to the Kennedy Center's rooftop restaurant for dinner and then to see a play." He sighed. "Very classy night; very classy girl."

"Why don't you go out with her some more?" Arthur seemed puzzled.

"Nah, you just don't get it. There's too much romantic aftermath in a situation like that. I know she wants to sleep with me, and if I ever cave in and do that, with anyone, it's just going to complicate things."

"Well, then, shut it about finding Mrs. Right!" The blond poked him and Gilbert started laughing.

By the time they'd gotten to the amusement park he'd talked about so many of his dates, his _own_ head was beginning to spin. "Whew."

"Are we going to play skeeball today?"

"Of course! You're going down, as usual, Artie. You should know by now that you _never_ will win against the awesomeness that is me."

"I may never beat you at skeeball, but at least my grammar will always be better than yours, wanker," Arthur snorted, and Gilbert started laughing again. Arthur was so much fun. Sometimes he thought about asking him for a date, but most of the time, he was just content to know that Arthur was his very good friend.

…

"Right! You're going to be sorry you invited me here, wanker." Arthur stepped up to a skeeball ramp. "Want to make a bet?"

"Sure! Play for twenty minutes, low score buys dinner?"

"Good enough for me."

The two of them began to play, each fiercely concentrating. Gilbert had always been an excellent skeeball player, which is why he always tried to lure unsuspecting opponents into bets about it. But he knew Arthur was pretty good. He'd have to focus.

"Damn it, Arthur!" he yelled after a few noisy minutes. "How can I concentrate if you keep whooping and yelling over there?"

"Ha ha, not so awesome any more, are you, git?" Arthur yelled, his next ball missing the ramp entirely. "Bollocks!"

"Kesesese! Don't mess with me!" Gilbert focused on his ramp again.

At the end of the twenty minutes, the two friends stood back and compared scores.

"Bugger."

"Kesesese!"

…

"Well, at least the food is reasonable," Arthur grumbled, eating pizza, and Gilbert patted him on the back.

"Don't sweat it, Artie. Someday you'll find someone you can beat."

"You're a complete wanker. _Complete._"

"Aw, come on. You know you love me."

Arthur flicked an olive at him and they dissolved into unmanly giggles.

…

"Hey, let's ride the Dominator."

"Again? I wanted to ride the Intimidator, please."

"But the Dominator is so much more awesome!"

"Forget it! Let's ride the Anaconda, as a compromise. Or doesn't your little albino brain know the meaning of the word?"

Gilbert sighed. "All right, we can do the Intimidator _or_ the Anaconda, whichever you want, _if_ you buy me some cotton candy first."

"I hate you." Arthur's voice was vicious.

"What? Why? It was just a little request!" Gilbert was thoroughly confused.

"Gilbert, you tosser. You're a _bank vice president_, and I'm a bloody busboy_._ Why should I have to pay for your candyfloss? It's not like I'm one of your blasted dates!"

"Oh." Gilbert's face fell. He really hadn't thought of it that way. "Sorry." He hurried over to the cotton candy stand and bought two sticks. "Here."

"What? I don't even like this shite!"

They both snorted and ate the cotton candy before going on the Anaconda, as a compromise.

…

The sun was setting. Gilbert stretched and grinned at his friend. "It's been a really awesome day, hasn't it? No troubles at all!"

"Except skeeball," Arthur moaned, not quite under his breath.

"I'm telling you, someday you'll triumph. Maybe not with me, but…"

"Wanker."

"Come on, let's go home." He slung his arm around the blond's shoulders and led him to the parking lot.

It really had been a very awesome day.

…

_Next up: Lovino meets his newest employee._

_(I know that's not kosher for this particular story, since this is supposed to be all about the supporting characters, but I had that scene written out from both points of view originally, and couldn't decide which to use. So I'm going to put the Lovi version into Life Sketches. It's chapter 7, "The Street Lamp.")_


	10. Lovino Meets His Newest Employee

**Lovino Meets His Newest Employee.**

He paced around his little rented office long past normal quitting time, trying to work up his nerve. Lovino planned to visit the diner tonight, not for dinner or dessert, but with a purpose. Still feeling like an ass, he wanted to man up, introduce himself to the blond (whose fucking name he _still did not know!)_, and make sure the young man wouldn't be uncomfortable coming to work for him.

He also wanted to take a serious look at the bastard's paperwork tomorrow and make sure Ms. Taylor hadn't fucked up somewhere along the line. Lovino had a lot of trouble understanding how someone could be a diner waiter and yet be "the best candidate" to run an art gallery. Surely if the guy was legit, he wouldn't have been working at the diner in the first place? He knew the blond was young, and part of him was very jittery about hiring this young waiter to run his art gallery. It seemed like a fairly stupid business decision, but of course he only had himself to blame, in the end.

But, he reminded himself, he had made the decision to sell out in a year, if things didn't work out. And he could always sell it sooner than that, or just shut the damn thing down and fire the bastard, if he sucked.

Right, the hell with all this pacing. He needed to get this over with.

…

Lovino parked the Spitfire outside the diner and took a few deep breaths. This was going to be an awkward conversation, no matter how he looked at it. First of all, what if the blond wasn't even working tonight? He peered through the windows and saw him bustling around, busy, though, so that was all right.

He took some more deep breaths, scrubbing a hand through his hair and then fixing it. Dammit, he should just get it the hell _over with_! What's the worst that could happen? They'd have a fucking awful conversation, and the bastard would refuse to come work for him, and then Lovino would hire the other candidate. It was not that big of a deal. Irritated with himself and his indecision, he scrambled out of the car, slamming the door and striding into the well-lit diner.

The blond was – was right over _there_, but Lovino pretended not to see him at first; he needed to get himself under control. He was so nervous about this conversation and didn't quite know why, and it made him even more agitated. While the hostess seated the couple in front of him, he dug his nails into his palms for focus, pressed his lips together, and raised his gaze, meeting the blond's bright green eyes almost immediately. _Shift your ass, Vargas,_ he told himself, and stepped over to him. "Excuse me. Could I speak with you in private, by any chance?" He managed to maintain eye contact, although it was almost physically strenuous for him to do so.

"Yes. I was just about to go on my break. We could go outside?" The blond gestured to a bus stop bench along the road. Lovino nodded and followed him outside to the bench.

After they'd sat down, he introduced himself and explained that he owned Galleria Piccola. The blond looked – disappointed? Maybe he'd expected the gallery owner to be some older big shot or something. Whatever.

Lovino then explained, in a halting voice, how stupid he'd felt the other night here at the diner, when the man had brought him his lemon cheesecake. He had to stop talking and rub a hand over his face, because he could feel it burning, but hopefully the strange yellow light of the street lamp would disguise that. "I didn't want you to find out, later, just who you were working for, if – if it was going to embarrass you, or piss you off. I feel pretty fucking stupid about that night."

"Well, no, I – I wouldn't back out of it," the blond offered in a hesitant tone. "I'm trained in art, and I've wanted to get a job in that field for a long time. I – I'm very, er, excited about it, and what happened here, well, it was awkward, but it won't be a problem. I can put it behind me."

Lovino hoped he meant that. "Are you certain?"

"Yes. But – but if you, if _you_ are going to be uncomfortable with it, then I suppose you should probably withdraw your offer of employment?" The disappointment in the blond's voice was so evident that Lovino nearly patted his hand to reassure him. Dammit, _now_ what the hell was he thinking?

"No. It's not going to be a problem; I don't visit the gallery much." Though perhaps he really ought to start. He'd never make any headway with it if he kept avoiding it.

Neither spoke for a moment, and then Lovino realized he was being an antisocial idiot. "Wh-when do you start the new job?"

"Two more weeks. I'm handing in my notice this evening, after my shift." The blond darted a hopeful little look at Lovino, who managed a weak smile in return.

Dammit. He didn't want to scare the bastard away, but on the other hand, he didn't want him to panic about this. He pulled out one of his business cards. "Here. If you should change your mind, please call me. That's my office number. Then I can make other arrangements, hire the other candidate, whatever I need to do." They rose from the bench.

The blond took the card and put it into the pocket of his khaki pants. "I won't change my mind," he said forcefully. "I've been trying to get a break for too long. Thank you, Mr. Vargas." He held out his hand; Lovino took it and shook it again, feeling its cool strength. His newest employee then looked away and asked, "Will you be at the gallery when I start work?"

"I don't normally visit the place on a daily basis, but after you're settled in, I'll come down one afternoon to - to meet with you." Fuck, his face was red again, he could tell; he ran a hand over it and shifted his gaze towards the diner, the parking lot, anywhere but at the blond.

"Thank you again. I do need to get back to work here, though. Will you be staying to eat?" Their eyes met; Lovino bit his lip. There was no way was he going to sit there, blushing and feeling stupid, while he ate a meal. Or any fucking dessert!

"N-no. I do want to ask you something else, though. I don't even know your name yet. Sorry, but I haven't caught up with all my paperwork. Please introduce yourself?" Dammit, he really should have looked that up before coming here tonight. Now the guy was going to wonder just how the hell Lovino had made the connection between a name on a resume and a waiter at the diner! _Fuck._ Things were going from bad to worse.

But the blond didn't seem to realize the implications of his question. "Forgive me. My name is Arthur Kirkland. Please just call me Arthur." He held out his hand again, even though they'd just shaken hands, so Lovino took it and shook it one more time, smiling at him as best as he could manage. Well, maybe the bastard was nervous about meeting his new boss this way. Lovino knew _he_ would be, in a bizarre situation like this one.

"Welcome to the gallery, Arthur. It's a – a pleasure to meet you. Please don't let me keep you from your work; I'll see you in a few weeks?" He waited for Arthur's confirming nod before turning to walk to his car; by the time he'd gotten there, the blond had vanished inside the diner.

Well. That had actually gone a lot better than he'd hoped. At least it was behind him now. Lovino drove home in a much more optimistic frame of mind.

…

_Next up, for real: Gilbert visits a strip club._


	11. Gilbert Goes to a Strip Club

**Gilbert Goes to a Strip Club.**

Boy, Gilbert really hated office parties, but, you know, you had to play the politics game or else you'd never get anywhere. Tonight they were taking one of his peers to a strip club for a bachelor party. The guy was a total weed, the kind of scrawny little guy you could never imagine on a date, let alone getting married, but he was loud and raucous and apparently his future wife was just the same way.

Gilbert sighed. As if the enforced socializing with his coworkers wasn't bad enough, a strip club? That was so 1950s. He hadn't been to a strip club in about ten years - since he'd been a bubbling cesspit of teenage hormones - and it hadn't been fun.

And so tonight he'd have to sit through a boring bunch of exotic dancers while the men around him drooled and groaned and stuffed cash into gyrating panties. To be safe, Gilbert only had a twenty with him; he knew he was sensible enough not to stuff an entire $20 bill into some lame stripper's panties!

He made it to the club and walked in.

A tasteful place, this; not like the ones he remembered from his youth. Of course, everyone at the office had argued how "strip joints were much more legitimate now" and "the classiness factor had been raised lately" and all that kind of nonsense, but he hadn't believed it. Now, though, he thought maybe they'd been right. Oh, maybe not about the legitimacy, but certainly the décor was pretty elegant. Not the football banners and peeling paneling of the shabby places in his Pennsylvania hometown. He spotted the table where his office mates sat and headed over.

Everyone seemed pleased to see him; everyone had at least two empty beers in front of him already. The bachelor was pounding his fist on the table, arguing with Gilbert's boss about something; two or three of the younger guys were staring at the empty stage, listening wistfully to the low music. Gilbert figured they'd probably never been to a strip club before. Well, he wouldn't burst their bubbles, kesesese, he'd stick around long enough to see some dancers, have a few beers, watch the bachelor act like an idiot around the girls, and then go. Maybe he could swing by the diner afterwards, see if Arthur was working, get some baklava. He hadn't seen his friend in a while.

He sat. He ordered a beer. He got his beer. He drank his beer.

Somewhere between the first and second beers, the lights dimmed and the music got a little louder. The young guys – and Gilbert had been right, they'd never been to a club like this before – had eagerly turned their chairs to face the stage. The bachelor was finally attending to the show and not yelling any more. Gilbert sighed and turned his chair to the stage, too.

Meh. A girl came out in a geisha costume. Gilbert couldn't even tell whether she was actually Japanese, or just really heavily made-up. She shuffled around the stage to the beat for about fifteen seconds and then began her striptease, taking the chopsticks out of her elaborate hairdo very slowly, undoing the elaborate knots of her belt. Men began catcalling, but the girl didn't put on much of a show. It was more like watching a geisha get ready for bed. Gilbert yawned and drank some beer.

He checked his watch. Well, he'd only been here about an hour; probably too early to leave yet.

The geisha stripped down to her bra and panties, twirled around the pole a few times, and then left the stage. Boos and hisses came from the disappointed patrons. A staff member came out to remove the discarded geisha items from the floor.

A sexily-clad waitress circulated through the room with trays of drinks; when she got to the distinctive Gilbert, she winked, and he raised his beer to her, but did not flirt beyond that. He was really in a crabby mood! Well, maybe it was the music or something.

The tempo changed and another girl came out. This one was a beautiful blonde, with cascading long curls; Gilbert, trying to be objective, thought it was probably a wig. Nobody had actual hair like that. He kept his eyes on the pretty green-eyed girl as she danced, flirting and blowing kisses to patrons. She was much more involved than the geisha had been. Gilbert stood up at his seat to get a better view, and the movement caught her eye.

The girl broke into a beaming grin, but then faltered. He wondered why. Maybe she wasn't supposed to flirt with customers that way. She was so nice to look at…he finished his beer, absently, while watching her dance. She stripped down to flimsy pink bra and boy shorts with little bows on them, allowed a few men to stuff bills into the waistband, and skittered off the stage, turning to look – at Gilbert? Kesesese! – one more time before disappearing behind the curtain.

Gilbert didn't even register the boos and hisses this time. He moved his chair closer to the little catwalk, hoping to get her attention when she came out again.

In the end he sat at the club far longer than most of his office mates, watching the awesome blonde dance three more times, finally stuffing his $20 into her panties, even though she hadn't stripped all the way down yet. She blew him a kiss when she left the stage, and if he wasn't mistaken, beckoned him backstage.

As if awakening from a dream, Gilbert looked around; everyone but the young newbs had left his table, even the bachelor. His watch said it was one in the morning! How was that possible? Luckily he didn't have to work tomorrow, though the diner would be closed by now.

The hell with the baklava. He decided to find out whether the dancer had actually wanted to talk to him.

"Excuse me," he said to the still-wandering waitress. "The last dancer – the blonde – I think she wanted to see me? I can't be sure."

The waitress looked him up and down, grinning. "She probably did. She told me how cute you were – but then, I already realized that."

"Kesesese! How can I find her?" Gilbert didn't even seem to realize he might be offending the flirty waitress.

"Let me take you backstage," she offered, still grinning. The albino left his empty bottle on the table and followed his guide backstage.

…

_Next up: Alfred and Ivan in Paradise._


	12. Alfred and Ivan in Paradise

**Alfred and Ivan in Paradise.**

"You know, when we first moved here, I thought you were nuts, man," Alfred laughed, as the two of them stumbled home from the bar late one night. "I thought we were going to go to Hollywood, or even San Francisco. Paradise, California, it sounded so exciting! And then I saw the place." He slung his arm around Ivan's shoulders, still laughing.

"Well, it's not too thrilling, but we have a nice life, don't we?" Ivan turned his perpetual smile to the blond. "Steady jobs at the bar, a nice apartment?"

"Sleeping until noon, yeah!" Alfred agreed, kissing him warmly. "I love being a bartender. It was a brilliant idea. And you make an awesome bouncer, too."

Hm. Saying the word 'awesome' reminded him about his friend Gilbert. He really ought to get back in touch with him.

Thinking about Gilbert reminded him of Arthur, somehow, and he put that thought right out of his head.

Ivan pinched his ass, and he laughed. Could this be love? Because of Ivan, he was holding down a steady job – willingly – for the first time in his life! And they were together _all the time_, which was wonderful. Alfred really adored being the focus of someone's attention, and when it was someone big, strong, and gorgeous, like Ivan, well – yeah. It must be love. "I'm going to be very, very good to you tonight," he decided, stopping Ivan in the street and swirling his tongue around his friend's ear. "Tonight I'm going to take _you_ to Paradise."

"Hm. I look forward to it," Ivan replied formally, and then they began laughing together as they walked back to their cozy little apartment.

…

_Next up: Gilbert goes to a new Starbucks._


	13. Gilbert Visits a New Starbucks

**Gilbert Visits a New Starbucks.**

Wah, what a nice May morning. Little fluffy birds chirping and everything. Gilbert liked birds and often thought of getting one for a pet. Wouldn't it be awesome to train a pet bird to sit on his head? Kesesese, yes, of course it would, but with all the time he spent at work and socializing, the poor thing would probably be very lonely most of the time. That wouldn't be fair. He sighed and instead enjoyed the chirping of the wild birds as he walked.

There was a new Starbucks around the corner from the bank, so he'd parked his convertible and wandered over there before going in to work. There was also a Starbucks on the main corner – this sort of thing always made him laugh, when there were two so close together – but it was totally packed until about ten-thirty every morning. He couldn't stand waiting in line for his drink, and he always felt guilty sending his secretary to pick up coffee for him, even though she cheerfully did it. He hoped the new one would be less crowded, or at least take some of the heat off the old one. Gilbert planned to test them both over a week or so, and see if there was a difference.

"Grande iced caramel macchiato," he ordered, when it was his turn. While his drink was being made, he checked out the décor; huh, looked just like every other Starbucks he'd ever seen. Well, that wasn't so surprising. And it was a lot less crowded.

He heard a shy "Hello" from the drinks counter. He looked up to see – oh!

"Hi! So you transferred here from the other Starbucks?"

The petite man, blond hair tied back, winked a green eye at Gilbert. "Yes. It's totally better, because I have some seniority, so I can get better, you know, hours and shifts, whatever."

"Cool!" Gilbert took his drink from the guy and waved as he walked away. "Guess I'll see you around."

"See you later," the barista acknowledged.

…

That barista was pretty flirty, he had to admit. At the old Starbucks they'd never spoken, but the albino had frequently caught him staring. Not that Gilbert had any problem with it; man, if he did, he'd be in big trouble! Everybody stared at him, all the time, practically. But that guy used to flash him little secretive smiles, sometimes making him a vente drink instead of a grande, that kind of stuff. Tiny stuff, but Gilbert knew the signs.

But per his self-imposed rule, he never asked anyone out. If the barista asked – fine. But Gilbert wasn't going to go around asking.

Not that he was looking for anyone new to date, of course. After meeting the blonde stripper – Felicia – last Friday, he'd spent the whole weekend in a dreamy romantic haze thinking about her. (He still didn't know if the hair was a wig or not, and this bothered him.) He'd gone back to the strip club on Saturday night, armed with a bunch of $1 bills. He didn't want to keep stuffing twenties in her panties, because it might give her the wrong idea, but he also didn't want to look like a cheapskate. Giving her ones instead of twenties meant he could call her over to his seat a lot more often! She'd seemed to dance solely for him…

Entering the bank offices, Gilbert sighed. Felicia was sweet, if a little timid, which seemed strange for an exotic dancer. He'd almost broken his rule and asked her out – but common sense had prevailed. He hoped to see her again this weekend. If this romantic fever hadn't left him by then, well…then maybe he _would_ ask her out. Maybe.

But…now that the barista had started talking to him, it might complicate things.

Ah, Gilbert could handle it. He'd figure out what to do after this coming weekend, when he'd seen Felicia again. And he'd keep going to the new Starbucks. Just to see if the barista stepped up his game. Yeah.

…

_Next up: Felicia totally spends time with Gilbert._


	14. Felicia Totally Spends Time with Gilbert

**Felicia Totally Spends Time with Gilbert.**

The exotic dancer finished applying her blood-red lipstick with a brush, popped her lips and smiled seductively at her reflection in the club's dressing room. Felicia knew she looked really good tonight – dark and dramatic, a change from her usual wholesome girly-girl look. She'd even changed to a darker blond wig, but had kept the same style. She didn't want to chase the delicious albino away by being _too_ totally different.

Whew. She blew herself a kiss again and stood up, adjusting her outfit (tight black minidress over a space-age silver bra, matching silver boy shorts – she always preferred these – and leopard-print platform sandals). Not that Gilbert would see her lingerie tonight, no. She'd share some time with him in the dressing room, they'd talk a bit, and then they'd have to leave. There was, like, no hanky-panky allowed at this club! For that, Felicia was grateful.

She checked her reflection one more time, and then stuck her head out the door to see if Gilbert was waiting for her.

"Hello, beautiful," he crooned, right on cue. "May I come in?"

"Totally!" she squealed. "Please, you know, come in!"

He slipped into the otherwise-empty dressing room and looked around. "Nobody else here tonight?" He waggled his eyebrows at her.

She pouted at him. "Now, Gilbert, you know I can't, like, do anything. I – I wouldn't, anyway, you know; I'm a respectable – I'm totally respectable!" she asserted, nodding.

"Of course you are, beautiful baby. Come sit on my lap?" He grinned.

Gilbert was always trying to wheedle her into sitting on his lap. This really worried her. He'd only spoken to Felicia three times since she'd met him at the club, and she was a little skittish about him. "No. I'll, like, sit over here."

"Whatever suits you, sweetie." He took a chair opposite and checked himself out in the mirror, laughing before turning back to her. "You look different tonight. More adult. I like it."

"Thank you," Felicia simpered.

"You're not – not underage, are you?" The sudden look of panic on his face made her burst into giggles.

"I'm totally overage. But I'm not going to tell you how old I am!" She waggled a finger at him. "Naughty boy."

He laughed at her again, grabbing the finger and kissing it. "Now, come on, Felicia, enough of this play-flirting. I want to know if you'll go out with me sometime."

"Wh-what kind of a date?" Felicia really liked this guy, she _totally_ liked him, but…she was, like, a little scared to get too close.

"Whatever you like? I'm guessing not dancing, since you dance all the time, kesesese, but we could go to the movies, or just walk around town together, maybe get some coffee…"

Felicia recoiled at that, but Gilbert didn't seem to notice. "So what do you think? What about tomorrow night?" he concluded.

"That's…that's totally cool of you to ask, you know, but…I already have plans tomorrow. I'm sorry to the max, Gilbert. You know I'd like to go out with you." She beamed at him.

"Yeah, but if you're dating somebody else –?" He let the question hang delicately in the air, even though he couldn't keep a slightly pissed-off expression off his face.

"It – it's, like, not a _date_ date. Just something grody I have to get done. Don't worry about it." She fluttered her eyelashes at him to soften him.

"Sweet! Well? How about Tuesday? Tuesday would be awesome; I have absolutely no plans at all." He fluttered his eyelashes at _her_, and Felicia burst into giggles.

"Oh. Gilbert, I would love to, but I have, like, an appointment on Tuesday night." She sighed. "And I have to, you know, dance on Thursday and Friday."

"Hmm." Gilbert pursed his lips. "I have a date on Friday, but I could ditch her and come see you dance, at least."

"That would be, like, totally awesome!"

"Kesesese! Then I'll do it."

The manager of the club burst into the room without knocking; Felicia knew he did this periodically to make sure nothing funny was going on. "Out of here, you two. Fe-Felicia, don't forget you've got to come in and do that paperwork tomorrow."

"Yessir," she sighed, rising. "Gilbert, will you, like, walk me to my car?"

"Of course," he offered, sweeping into a bow and gesturing her towards the doorway. The two of them slipped past the manager, giggling, and exited into the night.

Felicia had to be _totally careful_ around a man like Gilbert.

…

_Next: Matthew lets himself get angry._


	15. Matthew Lets Himself Get Angry

_Yeah, I've been writing a lot lately._

…

**Matthew Lets Himself Get Angry.**

Matthew was craving a maple Frappuccino, but…he had to deal with Alfred's idiotic request, first, before he could calm down enough to enjoy one. "I have every right to be angry!" he whispered, lightly thumping a loosely-clenched fist on his hand-carved oak desk. His secretary, out in the reception area, didn't appear to have heard him. "Dumb, dumb Alfred!"

Well, of course Matthew was angry. This was the fourth request for money he'd gotten since his crazy twin had eloped to California, or whatever. Didn't he have a job? Matthew didn't want to keep supporting him forever! "Stupid Alfred!" he yelled softly, again, stamping a foot on the plush rug in his office, which didn't make a noise.

This wasn't alleviating his anger, so he got up to pace and argue with himself.

"Does he think I'm made of money? It's bad enough he's run through so much of his trust fund already, but now he expects a handout every month? How did that boy grow up such a dunderhead while I got all the brains?" Matthew kicked the side of his desk, failing to scuff it. "And he's the _older_ one! He's supposed to be responsible for _me!_"

Matthew looked back at the top of his beautiful ornate desk. Next to his stuffed bear (which his secretary found amusing, he knew, but he kept it on the desk anyway), a postcard sat. A _postcard_! Didn't Alfred have the common sense to telephone him? He knew his brother still had a cell phone, because Matthew was still paying the bills for it, and he checked them very carefully every month, oh, yes. Calls to a bar in California, repeatedly. Calls to mail-order merchants, pizza delivery places, taxi services, but do you think he could ever pick up the phone and call his own brother, who was doing so much to keep his life afloat? "No," Matthew whined, kicking the desk again. "Just stupid postcards." And _he_ certainly wasn't going to initiate the call, not when he knew it would be a miserable begging discussion that ended with Alfred getting his own way anyway...as usual.

He lowered his voice even more to admit – only to himself – "He makes me crazy."

"I'm sorry, sir, did you say something?" His receptionist stuck her head in the doorway.

"No, thank you," he whispered, turning red, "I'm sorry." He turned to face out the window as she walked away.

Matthew wondered what Alfred would do if he simply stopped responding to all these pleas and demands for money, for support. He walked back to his leather chair and sat, allowing himself to indulge in fantasies of a destitute, cell-phone-less Alfred wandering in the California desert, praying for his absent brother to find him and provide for him. Ha!

But…Matthew knew he'd never actually do that. He was too responsible. He sighed, read Alfred's misspelled postcard again, and reached for his checkbook.

…

_Next: Gilbert meets a very important person._

_This story is starting to look like advertising for Starbucks. Sorry. I'll try to tone it down in future._

_Also, I had no particular romantic plans for Matthew, but this chapter makes me feel so bad for him, I want him to have some good loving. Stay tuned._


	16. Gilbert Meets a Very Important Person

**Gilbert Meets a Very Important Person.**

"Hey, Artie!" Gilbert eyed his friend's new workplace appreciatively. This was a really cool place to work! Small, manageable, and such pretty artworks. And it was in a nice location, too. He kept his eyes on a small sculpture while Arthur berated him for talking too loudly.

"Man, paintings won't be damaged by sound waves. How are you? This place is awesome! I'm glad I didn't jinx it for you."

"I'm great!" Arthur laughed. "What are you doing here? Just visiting?"

Gilbert sat behind the big desk. "I totally need to talk to you. Dinner tonight? What time do you get off work?"

"Five. It's almost closing time."

"Mind if I wait? Do whatever you need to do; it's totally fine with me."

Arthur gave him a strange look. He wondered why.

There were no customers just now, so Arthur perched on the edge of the desk and the two of them talked quietly. He was happy to hear that Arthur was doing so well at this classy job! Gilbert went back to staring at the paintings and sculptures while they chatted. Definitely a step up from busboy. Several steps up. And he looked pretty good in a business suit, too. Gilbert approved.

The door burst open and a handsome but very angry man stomped in, stopping to frown at Gilbert. Arthur hopped off the desk in alarm and went to shake his hand. Gilbert watched them speak. Aha. This must be Arthur's boss. Damn. Lucky Arthur. Maybe he'd shove his oar in. Yeah.

Gilbert slipped out of the desk chair and approached the two men with his hand extended. "Are you Arthur's boss? My name is Gilbert Beilschmidt."

The dark-haired man shook his hand, still scowling. "How do you do? I'm Lovino Vargas; I own the gallery."

_Lovino Vargas!_ Gilbert couldn't help the little shock that ran through his system. Lovino Vargas was a very rich man indeed. Awesome. Arthur really _was_ lucky. Working for a man so delicious _and_ so rich…maybe he would hit the jackpot. Arthur deserved something good, after Alfred's unawesome treatment of him.

"Excuse me a moment," Vargas said, dropping his hand. "I have to talk to Arthur." He walked to the other side of the open space, talking quietly to Arthur beside him. Shrugging, Gilbert went back to the desk chair and sat down, turning to watch traffic through the window so they wouldn't think he was eavesdropping. But…Lovino Vargas! Damn, maybe he should break his rule about not asking people out…

No. He had to focus. He was in a pickle about his love life, and he wanted to sort it out with Arthur first. Talking to Arthur was always very helpful – almost therapeutic – and he knew the blond would come up with some common sense that would help him out. He smiled softly.

A movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention and he turned to see Vargas leaving the gallery, nodding at him on the way out. As soon as the door had closed behind him he leaped up and crossed to his friend, taking both his hands and squeezing them excitedly. "You work for Lovino Vargas? Why didn't you say? Artie, you should totally make a play for him. You could be a kept man – never have to work again! Kesesese!"

"What?" Arthur was baffled.

"He's so rich! His dad was some corporate bigshot and left him a fortune."

At this news, Arthur's expression glazed over, and Gilbert watched thoughts hurry across his eyes. After a minute he scowled, but still didn't speak.

"Hello? Hello?" Gilbert laughed, waving his hand in front of Arthur's face. "I'm thinking of asking him out." Not really. He just wanted to goad his friend.

"_What_? Mr. Vargas? No. You never ask anybody out."

"But the stakes are so much higher! Kesesese."

"Shut it, wanker. Let me lock up and we can go."

…

_Next: Arthur sorts out Gilbert's problems._

_Regarding the previous chapter: the request lines are open for Matthew's love interest. I can't come up with anyone. Astute readers may remember that Toris is in the story as a local real estate agent, but really, anyone who hasn't appeared in L&A yet would be fair game. Even France or Spain, if I can figure out a plausible way to get them together._

_I haven't decided what to do about Feliks and Alfred in the long run. (Gilbert pointed out that Feliks "is trying to get together" with Alfred, but in my head, Alfred is resisting. I don't know why, but he is.) But of course I can't put Matthew with Alfred, and the idea of Matthew & Feliks is just…wrong._


	17. Arthur Sorts Out Gilbert's Problems

**Arthur Sorts Out Gilbert's Problems.**

"Where do you want to eat?" Gilbert unlocked the doors of his little car and they climbed inside.

"How about the diner? I'm craving cheesecake."

"Sure, that's all right. I've been wanting some of that baklava lately but things are out of control."

"What, with your bloody dates? You can't spare time to get some food?" Arthur started laughing at him.

"Oh, come on, shut up and let me drive. I totally have to talk to you about that, but I need to focus on the road."

"That's new," Arthur snarked, sinking back into his seat.

Gilbert snorted but didn't answer. He really did need to focus on the road; it was rush hour, and the Friday before Memorial Day, too, so everyone was trying to get out of town.

He hoped Arthur could help him out. Thoughts of Felicia and the barista circled around frantically in his brain while he tried to navigate traffic _and_ tune out his hunger. Luckily Artie didn't seem too chatty. Maybe he was hungry.

He thought about Lovino Vargas again. Damn, that man was hot. Ha! Maybe Arthur was already sleeping with him! That would explain why Vargas had been so short with him, and why Arthur had been so distracted when he'd come into the gallery. Gilbert decided he'd totally have to prod his friend about this topic, once they got his own life settled, of course.

They finally reached the diner's little parking lot; luckily, there was just one parking space left. "Awesome. Come on, hurry up."

"Eh, you know people here will want to talk to me. I haven't been back since I started the new job."

"That's all right. I don't have any plans tonight except to be with you, dear, kesesese."

Arthur rolled his eyes and they went into the diner.

Yes, almost every employee in the place had to stop by and talk to him, but the waitress kept refilling their coffee and teacups and Gilbert was fine with that.

Eventually everyone left the two friends alone. "I totally need to talk to you," he blurted out, playing with the salt and pepper shakers. "I – I met a girl."

"What's so dramatic about that? You meet girls all the time. Did you go out with her yet?" Arthur took the salt and pepper away from him and set them on the corner of the table.

"Come on, don't tease me. Her name is Felicia, and she's absolutely beautiful."

"Okay, so what's the problem?"

"She – works as a stripper."

Arthur burst out laughing and many of the diner patrons turned to look at them. "Stop that!" Gilbert hissed. "Don't laugh!"

The blond blinked in surprise. "Well…all right. Sorry." He unfolded his napkin. "So you're in love with a stripper. Are you?"

"I – I totally don't know, Arthur."

"Wait just a minute. Before you go any further, tell me why you keep saying 'totally' all the time! You sound totally idiotic." Arthur snorted.

"Do I really keep saying that? Cool! That's something Felicia likes to say." Gilbert beamed, chin in hand, staring into space for a moment while the waitress finally came to take their orders.

When she'd gone, the albino sighed. "I can't stand it, Artie. I've already broken two dates so I could go see her."

"At the" – snort – "strip club?"

"Yes, and before you start getting all snarky about this, she is totally classy and doesn't strip all the way. They put her on in the early part of the evening, when everyone's still mostly sober. She comes out, does a little dance, and then goes away, but she keeps her bra and panties on the whole time."

"Well, that's good, at least she's not a complete – well, you know," Arthur said modestly.

Gilbert sighed again.

"So you're really into her?" Arthur drank some tea.

"Uh. Well, yeah, but…"

"No. You'd better not be getting ready to say she's married." Arthur's look of horror was quite comical, and Gilbert started laughing.

"Kesesese!" He poked the blond in the arm. "Too funny, Artie, too funny."

"I don't see why. You'd want to know about something like that." He started fiddling with his fork.

Gilbert then dove into the second part of his problem. "I have another problem, though. I've met a man I want to go out with."

"_What_? Not Mr. Vargas!" Arthur paled. Huh. Well, Gilbert decided they probably weren't sleeping together, since Arthur called him 'Mr. Vargas.' It'd be pretty brutal to sleep with your employee and not let him call you by your first name!

"Kesesese, no. Though that is tempting. I'm surprised you haven't done anything about that." Gilbert watched his friend carefully, but it really didn't seem like there was anything going on. Arthur just reacted like any normal employee would act. Oh, well. "No, this guy is a Starbucks barista. He's pretty amazing. We've only recently started talking to each other, but he's fun. A lot of fun. But I'm really torn! I like them both so much!"

"Have a threesome," Arthur suggested, and Gilbert threw a napkin at him.

"Come on, be serious."

"Have you gone out with either of them yet?"

"Well, no. The Starbucks guy – I – I don't even know his name, yet. And Felicia, she keeps making excuses not to go out with me. It's kind of annoying."

"Are you sure she's interested?"

"This is part of the problem! She's totally sweet and flirty with me when we're together, but…"

"When you're together where?"

"In the dressing room at the club."

"Er – Gilbert, I have to ask…how long have you been going to strip joints?"

"Don't worry, Artie, it's classy. Some guy at work had his bachelor party there, and that's the first time I've been to one in years."

"How about the barista chap? Is he _totally sweet and flirty_?"

Gilbert ate some fries. "Yeah, sort of. But you see, he and Felicia are both blonde, with green eyes. I mean, I'm pretty sure Felicia wears a wig when she's dancing, but…I can't be sure yet, because we haven't been close. But anyway! I keep wondering if I'm only attracted to the barista because he reminds me of Felicia! It's driving me mad!"

"Green eyes, blond hair?" Arthur laughed. "Sounds pretty bloody hot, if you ask me." He buffed his nails on his shirt and Gilbert kicked him. "Ow. Git." He took a sip of tea and began laughing louder this time.

"What? What's so funny?"

"Maybe it's the same person! Starbucks chap by day, transvestite stripper by night?" Arthur's whoops of laughter got so loud that Gilbert had to kick him again. "Stop, stop, you're hurting me." The blond kicked him back.

"You're a moron, Arthur. How stupid do you think I'd have to be to fall for something like that? A guy transvestite stripper? You really must think I'm nuts if I couldn't see through a disguise like that."

"Eh, sorry, it was too funny." The blond shoved his plate of fries towards his friend, and Gilbert started polishing those off, too. "So what do you want me to tell you?"

"What should I do?"

"You're a wanker."

"Arthur! You are not helping." Gilbert pouted and finished his coffee.

"If the bloody stripper won't go out with you, go out with the coffee bloke! It's simple."

"But what if I like Felicia better?" The albino was practically whining at this point.

"Then go out with her! Or, at least try to. If she keeps turning you down then you don't have much of a choice."

Gilbert sighed. "As usual, you're right. All right. I hereby vow: before I see you again, I'll either go on a date with Felicia, or ask the Starbucks guy his name, or…have a threesome! Kesesese!"

"That's my Gilbert. Now, finish up those blasted fries and let's get our dessert."

"Fine with me, my awesome friend. You really are a good help. Sometimes I get bogged down in this kind of stuff and it really helps me to talk to you."

"Huh. Maybe I should be a romance counselor." Arthur snorted and both of them burst out laughing again. "Eh, forget it, wanker. Let's just eat and have fun."

"Whatever you say, Dr. Kirkland. Kesesese!"

…

On the way home, Gilbert let himself fantasize about a threesome with Felicia and the barista, but he nearly got into an accident, so he stopped.

…

_Next: Why Matthew loves maple syrup._


	18. Why Matthew Loves Maple Syrup

**Why Matthew Loves Maple Syrup.**

The Starbucks girl flashed a hesitant smile at Matthew as she delivered his daily maple Frappuccino and his receptionist's double tall no foam something-or-other-without-maple. He smiled at the delivery girl, too, and took the cup into his office.

Matthew had recently worked out an arrangement with Starbucks. The location down the street would make and deliver a drink a day for him and for his secretary. He tried to save it and order his drink after lunch, for an afternoon pick-me-up, but she always wanted hers at midmorning, so he frequently caved on this. He didn't want to put the store through the trouble of two deliveries a day.

When the barista had made the first delivery, she'd asked him point-blank how he rated such personal service. This wasn't something Starbucks normally provided. Matthew, flustered by her bold question, had simply smiled an enigmatic smile and tasted the drink. He'd hoped that wasn't rude, but really didn't want to get into a big discussion about it. Taking the drink to his office, he'd closed the door to try and regain his composure. The maple helped. The maple always helped.

At age seven, Alfred and he had gone on vacation to Canada with their parents. Like most parents, they'd taken their children to various tours, factories, museums and so on. Matthew could still remember vividly the day they'd seen maple trees being tapped for their sap. A sensitive child, he'd wondered aloud whether this process hurt the trees, earning him a loud laugh and a punch on the shoulder from Alfred, and a patient explanation from the kindly tour guide.

Maple trees are generally not tapped for syrup until they are at least thirty years old. And the farms only take a small portion of their annual sap. He'd been shown trees that were in the resting cycle, running his fingers, at the tour guide's suggestion, over the bark's scars from previous years' taps, and had reluctantly concluded that maybe the tree didn't suffer much. But he still wasn't happy about it.

The farm had a little gift shop and restaurant, where the family had later sat to enjoy traditional pancakes with maple syrup on top. Alfred, of course, had doused his entire plate with it, but Matthew, more doubtful, had simply put a dime-sized dollop on the plate to be polite and test it.

And now, as he drank, he smiled as he felt the flavor explosion on his taste buds, just as he had back then. It had been a revelation! Matthew had eagerly eaten more pancakes than were good for him, just to put maple syrup on them. (Although he hadn't been as sloppy about it as his brother had. At that memory, he snorted quietly, and the straw poked him in the roof of his mouth.)

Then Matthew had successfully coaxed his father to buy him maple sugar candy in the little gift shop.

The rest of that vacation, he remembered, he'd turned into almost as big a pest as Alfred. (Almost.) Every time there had been a chance for maple syrup, he'd begged for it, and had almost always been indulged, since he was such a good boy. (He snorted again.)

Upon their return home, Matthew had feverishly studied encyclopedias and other books to learn more about it. His obsession had never left him, and pancakes with maple syrup was still his favorite meal ever, although waffles with maple syrup was a very close second. Sometimes he even put maple syrup on toast.

He'd gone to college in Vermont and spent his summers working at a maple farm. Those years had been almost idyllic. He sighed, lost in happy memories.

His parents and Alfred had eventually begun to worry. Alfred thought the maple had poisoned his brother's brain, but Matthew had just laughed his quiet laugh and gone about his business.

And now, Matthew owned three maple farms in Quebec, two in Vermont, and even a fledgling farm in Japan, and he was the sole exclusive supplier of maple syrup to Starbucks stores worldwide.

And that is how he rated a personal delivery each day.

He smiled again, finishing the drink, and turned his attention to the stock market.

…

_Next up: Feli muses on the nature of love._

_I know…I said I'd shut up about Starbucks, but I was trying to work out how Mattie made all his money, and this idea got into my head and made me laugh, so I had to make it happen. _

_I'm liking Sora-Chan222's suggestion of Yekaterina for Matthew! Might as well get some girls into the story. But I haven't fully decided yet. She might be this delivery girl. Not sure._


	19. Feli Muses on the Nature of Love

**Feli Muses on the Nature of Love.**

"Ve," Feli said to himself, driving home from Lovino's big house. He still worried about Lovi so much. All this talk about his love life being so bad, fortune hunters, all that kind of thing – it was pretty depressing. Feli knew that Lovino didn't have any other close friends, and he often grew concerned about him being in the United States all alone. He sighed.

Lovi's businesses had been a big topic of conversation tonight. Feli thought about this. His friend had just sold the French vineyard. On the one hand this was bad, because that vineyard made exquisite, world-class wines that frequently won awards. Feli always ordered Lovi's wine when he went to a restaurant, if they had it on the wine list. But on the other hand, he knew Lovino hated going anywhere near France, so…perhaps it was best this way.

And then they'd spoken of his art gallery.

When his friend had bought the gallery, it had seemed like a very different and interesting idea. The Vargas Collection, his stepfather's art collection, was well-known throughout Italy for having many exquisite artworks. Ve, he knew that Lovi wasn't an art whiz like his stepfather, but he'd thought owning the gallery could be really fun, a change of pace from all the really businessy stuff that Lovino was involved in. And when he'd heard that the gallery manager was a woman, Feli had had a little flutter of hope that she would be a woman Lovi could be with, finally.

But that had not taken place. Lovi complained endlessly of his various dates, ve, but never mentioned his gallery lady after that first talk. Every time they'd gotten together, it was the same old story; Lovi didn't even go to the gallery anymore.

Tonight, though – something definitely had happened regarding that gallery, but Feli couldn't quite grasp it. Lovino had been, well, not quite _eager_ to talk about it, but more communicative about it than he'd been for a long time. And he had also been unusually shy about discussing it. Maybe there was a client he liked, and he was too nervous to tell Feliciano about her yet. He'd definitely mention the gallery when he talked to Lovi next time, just to see what kind of a reaction he got.

What is it about love, ve, Feliciano now wondered. How can you find love with someone? What was Lovi doing wrong? There was love everywhere in the world. There _had_ to be! Otherwise, why are we here? Feliciano thought about all his previous attempts at love as he drove. There had been so many beautiful girls; some were fun, some were intelligent, some were simply failures. But there had never been a girl who combined so many of the things Feliciano wanted and needed. Only Ludwig.

Well, first of all, he considered, you must have some things in common, or you wouldn't have anything to talk about, or anything to do together. That was kind of basic. He was sure there were women out there with interests like Lovino's.

But he realized almost immediately that this might be a problem. A high-powered businesswoman, a female Lovi, as it were (and he giggled at that thought, picturing an irate Lovi in a frilly dress and heels) might be too powerful, or might not want such a powerful businessman for a partner; it might be too much competition. And if she was even _more_ successful than he was, it would make Lovi feel inadequate, ve, and that would be no good at all.

Well, he put that requirement aside temporarily. Certainly a pretty girl would be nice, but that was never a guarantee of success, as both he and Lovi knew from experience.

Trust, ve! That was one of the cornerstones in his relationship with Ludwig. The two of them had been friends for a while before there had been any mention of dating, and Feliciano had grown to trust the German man first. They'd even exchanged keys to their apartments recently, although Feli knew by now that Ludwig would never voluntarily step into his messy place. Not without a blindfold. "Ve," he laughed, telling himself that one of these days he really would clean his place up. He didn't like to make Ludwig anxious.

But back to Lovi. Trust: that could be a real problem for his friend. Lovi was so defensive – a real bastard, in public, but of course, with Feli he was mostly kind of normal, unless something angered him. (A fearful "ve" escaped his lips, as he thought of the few times he'd made Lovi really angry.) Then the question then seemed to become, how could Lovi ever relax enough to trust someone? If he couldn't even relax around Ludwig – who was Feli's best friend and lover, completely non-threatening to Lovi – how could he relax around anyone else?

He sighed and parked his car in his allotted spot before walking into his apartment. He wondered again whether Lovi might find more happiness with a man, just as he had. And he concluded sadly that even if Mr. Right were out there, Lovi would never know, because he would be much too uptight – about society, about himself – to make the mental leap to date a man. Would never trust someone enough to get that close. At least his friend didn't have the kind of media attention over in America that his family had had here. If he _could_ make the mental leap, he probably wouldn't need to worry about newspaper headlines or anything like that, ve.

Feli turned on the lights. "Oh!"

Ludwig, asleep at the kitchen table, woke up and raised his head. "Hello," he smiled, blushing. "I – I hope you don't mind that I came over to wait for you. I knew you would be back late, but – I missed you and wanted to see you." He stood up and looked around the kitchen. "And I cleaned a little while I waited."

The Italian burst into happy laughter and came to embrace his boyfriend and mess up his pristine hair playfully. "Ve, Ludwig, I'm always so happy to see you, no matter what. Always." As they kissed, Feliciano hoped with all his heart that Lovi would find someone to make him this happy, someday.

…

_Next: Trouble in Paradise._

_Thanks for all these great reviews with suggestions for Matthew. We'll get him a date if it kills us, dammit._

_Yes, Ukraine might be awkward because of Ivan and Alfred, but I could make Ivan and Katya not related, like I did with Ludwig & Gilbert._


	20. Trouble in Paradise

**Trouble in Paradise.**

"Welp, that's it for me," Alfred told Ivan, stretching and grabbing his coat. He'd drawn the early shift bartending, but tonight Ivan had decided to stay on the full shift, just to earn a little extra money.

"Pick up some pizza on the way home, da? I love American pizza!"

"Sure, dude. Have fun working!" Alfred clocked out and left the bar, heading for the pizza joint.

Paradise was…well…beginning to tarnish. When they'd arrived, he and Ivan had gotten settled in so quickly and easily that it had made Alfred laugh. And now, seven months later?

Well, they slept until noon, got up and basically just fucked around all afternoon, making love, playing video games, watching movies, writing postcards…and then they went to work at the bar, together, usually from about seven until two, unless Alfred got off work early like tonight.

And that was it! Oh, sure, they'd gone sightseeing and stuff at first. Sometimes now they went shopping, or to the park on the weekend to play Frisbee or something, but…man, it was really getting boring. He still loved Ivan – didn't he? sure – but he needed some excitement.

Luckily Mattie had stepped up to the plate and started sending him regular monthly checks. What a sweetie that kid was. Thank heavens for maple syrup. Every now and then Alfred went to Starbucks and ordered espresso with maple in it, just to support Mattie's efforts, even though it was a really disgusting combination. Sometimes he went outside the store and dumped it in the gutter instead of drinking it. There were limits, after all.

But seriously. Did Ivan really want to live out his life in the middle of nowhere? Alfred had an itch to be back in a big city, bright lights, noise, lots of things to do. Maybe he could talk Ivan into a Vegas vacation? He'd bet his lover had never been to a city like Vegas! Yeah. He'd talk to him about that tomorrow.

…

Ivan slipped into the apartment at about twenty past two, primed and ready for action. He'd downed two quick shots of vodka before leaving work. Two shots was _just_ the right amount to get his juices flowing. "Hello, little sunflower," he called out with a grin, and Alfred, playing some video game on a handheld, looked up and smiled.

"Busy night?"

"Don't worry your pretty little head about it, da? Come to bed."

"Aha. One of _those_ nights." Alfred eagerly jumped up and followed him into the bedroom.

"On the bed, honey bear," Ivan crooned, and Alfred obeyed.

…

When Ivan peaked he called out some word that Alfred didn't know, some Russian word that slipped out every now and then. But Alfred was in the grip of his own sexual frenzy, so he didn't attend to it much. "Uh, _Ivan_," he grunted, reaching his own climax.

The two of them lay tangled together on the bed, sweating and lethargic. Just before Alfred fell asleep he heard Ivan use that word again. _"Raivis…"_

…

_Next up: The times Feli made Lovi angry. I hadn't really intended to write this, but after Feli's fearful "ve" in the last chapter, somehow I had to explore it. _

_Apologies: Back in chapter seven I'd said Ivan was coming off a bad relationship with a Latvian ballet dancer. I'd fully intended it to be Raivis, but hadn't realized he's only 15 in canon! (I just looked him up and I feel very bad for choosing someone so young, but I wanted someone whose name was not an obvious name. Eduard, for example, would not have worked, and Toris is already in the story.) For purposes of this AU, let's pretend Raivis is, oh, 22, and Ivan is near 30. Thank you for your forbearance._


	21. The Times Feli Made Lovi Angry

**The Times Feli Made Lovi Angry.**

Feliciano woke up in the night, screaming, in a cold sweat. He sat bolt upright in the bed, and Ludwig, next to him, awoke with a panicked yell. "What is it, _Liebchen_? What? A bad dream?"

"_Veee_…" Feli lay back onto his pillow and took a few deep breaths. "Yes. Two bad dreams, if I'm remembering right. Ve," he said again, trying to control his pounding heart.

"If – if you would like me to hold you while you calm down, I am happy to do so."

Despite his fright, the younger man smiled; he knew that Ludwig would be blushing fiercely, even though it was too dark to see. "_Grazie_," he said simply, nestling close.

He desperately wanted to go back to sleep, but he knew from prior experience that if he didn't think about these Lovi-based nightmares, they'd just reoccur. So he forced relaxation in Ludwig's arms and thought about them. Ludwig fell back asleep almost instantly.

Ve. Feli thought back to the very first time Lovi had scared him with his anger.

It had been near the end of their _liceo _years. Feli's family had recently moved to the house in Rome, and he and Lovino had been eagerly reading about various universities and trying to decide where to study, what to study. For a long time they'd been planning to go to school together, room together, no matter where they ended up.

Fortunately, Lovino had eventually found his perfect university, but unfortunately, it was…expensive. Very expensive, ve. Feliciano could never have afforded to attend there. And – and even now he knew Lovino had done it to be generous, to help him out, but he cringed inside, remembering how his friend had offered, in a grandiose tone of voice, to pay for Feli's entire university education. "It would be a pittance, really; I can pay it out of my allowance, so I don't mind paying for it all."

Of course Feli had been taken aback, but that was nothing compared to what his mother had felt when he'd hesitantly told his parents. Feli's mamma had burst into tears, wailing and complaining because Lovino was trying to give them charity. They could stand on their own! How had little Lovino turned into such a cold-hearted boy?

That had truly devastated Feli. If it hadn't been for his mamma's reaction, he might actually have taken up the offer; that university was much better than the ones he'd been considering. But he couldn't stand to see her tears. He'd gone hesitantly to Lovi's house later and explained why he could not take advantage of the generous offer.

"_Bastardo!_" Lovi had started cursing and throwing things, breaking exquisite things in his stepfather's library, until a few servants had come running to find Feli crouched behind the sofa and Lovino, wild-eyed, still swearing at the top of his lungs, having nothing left to throw. It had taken his stepfather's strong embrace to pin Lovino's arms to his side and get him to stop. Feli, shaking (then as now), had repeated his decision in a quiet voice and left the house, politely thanking Mr. Vargas for his intervention. He'd half expected that Lovi would never speak to him again. Ve, that had been one scary day.

(Later, Lovi's stepfather had made the same offer to him, but with one caveat: it would be a loan. Feli would work as an intern for Vargas S.p.A. during the summers, and pay back the balance of the loan after graduating and finding work. No one had had a problem with that, and that's how Feli got his secondary education.)

It had taken Lovino two full weeks to work up his nerve to apologize after that. But at least he'd done it, ve, and a week later they had been back to their old friendship.

The second nightmare was about a time during university. Completely Feli's fault, this time. He had been nineteen, Lovi twenty, and his friend had just come into control of the race car firm that was his inheritance. The two friends had been rooming together at the university, and during study breaks, Lovi had carefully spent a great deal of time designing a (barely) street-legal car for his personal use. Feli had made some suggestions, but in the end, the custom design was all Lovino's. He'd commissioned his factory to build it, intending to cut quite a dashing figure at university for their remaining years.

And the factory had built it, beautifully. That bright red car had been a magnificent, sensual piece of machinery, and the very first time they'd taken it out, they'd driven all over town, just feeling smug and showing it off; everyone had stared at it, at the two laughing, handsome young men inside. Tired after the long time driving, Lovi had graciously let Feli take the wheel on the way back to their apartment.

No, the younger man hadn't crashed the car. What he'd done was far worse, ve. Negligent. They had stopped to have dinner at a little restaurant, and Feli had forgotten to engage the emergency brake. From their vantage point in front of the building, they'd watched in horror as the beautiful car had rolled backwards down the hill and smashed into an oncoming truck unable to stop, flipping Lovi's car over in the middle of the small street.

Before its wheels had even stopped spinning Lovi had begun screaming and crying, red with anger, punching and kicking the wall of the building. "You _idiota!_ Dammit, you _fucking_ _stupid idiot_!" Feli, appalled at his own oversight, had shrunk against the wall, quaking again, feeling desperate and unable to speak. Partly because Lovi was so _febbrilmente_ angry, but more so because Feli and his family could never afford to replace that car. Not in a million years. It had cost more than their _house!_

Ve. Feli shivered in Ludwig's arms, remembering that. He and Lovino hadn't spoken for a month – despite the fact that they were sharing an apartment. Lovi had been brutally cold and ignored him every single day. Feliciano shivered again and cuddled closer to Ludwig.

When Lovi's stepfather had learned of the accident, he'd been quite concerned. Finding that no one had been hurt, he'd then simply laughed and offered to pay for another car to be built. But Lovino had decided that it wouldn't be the same. Feli could understand that, ve, but he'd been very frightened of his friend for a long time after that. When they'd gotten back on speaking terms, Lovi had sworn never to try that kind of experiment again. Let the race car firm build race cars. It was too risky otherwise.

Of course he'd meant risky to his heart. The perfect car, on which he'd lavished hours of loving design attention, had ended up with a life span of about three hours. It really would be shattering to have to go through something like that again. Feli now lay warm in Ludwig's arms, listening to him snore, and was thankful that Lovi had gotten over that fairly quickly.

Feliciano was wide awake now after all this thinking, ve, so he decided to recap the third awful time, even though it hadn't featured in his nightmares.

Lovino: new owner of an elegant older hotel in Rome. This had been just weeks after their college graduation. He'd bought it with some of the proceeds from the race car firm, and some money he'd made in investments. By this time Lovi had had his plans to move to Washington, and he'd wanted a place to stay when he came back to Rome, somewhere independent from his stepfather. Owning a hotel had seemed like a really wise idea to both him and Feli. It would make money, and Lovi wouldn't need to worry about caretakers or servants or whatever, while he was out of the country.

One evening, while walking around the city together, his friend had quietly (perhaps remembering the tuition discussion) offered Feliciano the job of hotel manager, even though he'd not studied anything like that, was not qualified in any way. Feli had assumed that Lovino simply wanted a trustworthy person on site; after all, the existing hotel employees were unknown quantities.

"See? You can live in one of the hotel rooms. Then you wouldn't have to pay rent, or live with your parents. And then, I'll pay you double what the current bastard is getting, that's no problem." He'd shrugged at Feli. "Plus, I can shuffle around the management tasks, so all you have to do is deal with unhappy customers. The other employees can handle the management jobs."

Well, _Feli_ had blown his stack, that time. "Didn't you learn _anything_, ve? I don't want to be some charity case that you throw money at! I have an education just as good as yours, ve, and I'll find my own employment. I'm not going to be your – your _cane da compagnia,_ Lovi. Let me make my own way!"

Rather than driving home his point, this had – of course – set off Lovino's short fuse, and they'd had a knock-down, drag-out screaming match there in the middle of the city park. In many ways that time had been the worst ever. Lovi had actually grabbed Feliciano's arm in a death grip, getting right up in his face, screaming obscenities, and Feli, terrified, had burst into horrified tears.

The appalled Lovino had let go and stormed off, returning in a few minutes also in tears, begging his friend's forgiveness.

"Just – just don't ever offer me anything, ever again, Lovino, ve," Feli had managed to croak out as they embraced. "Nothing. Ever."

"_Sì_. I'm sorry. I'm so very sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you."

"I – I know, ve," although he really hadn't known.

_Scary._ The bruises on his arm hadn't faded for weeks.

But now, lying safe in Ludwig's arms, he was thankful that he and Lovi had had that last fight, because it had paved the way for their new, independent, adult friendship. He knew what not to do, to keep Lovino calm, and Lovi knew what topics to avoid, so that they wouldn't get in a fight. _"Veeee."_

Boy, Feli really hoped he could get to sleep now. He was really exhausted_. _He said a short prayer for Lovi, rolled away from Ludwig, and tried to sleep.

…

_Next: Antonio opens a café._

_I saw an SSC car once at a dealership. Sticker price near a million. That's kind of what I was basing Lovi's fantasy car on._


	22. Antonio Opens a Cafe

**Antonio Opens a Café.**

"_Maravilloso_! I mean, _meraviglioso_!" The Spaniard laughed happily as he unlocked and propped open the front door of his new little café, turning to smile at his employee Diana, an older woman who had been a baker for one of the larger restaurants in town before coming to work for him. "It's a beautiful September day, and here we are, and it's going to be a big success and we will meet a lot of interesting people," he sighed happily. He walked back to the counter to finish drinking his own cup of espresso.

Dark-haired and tall, with twinkling green eyes, Antonio Fernandez Carriedo was fulfilling his new dream. Last year he'd visited Florence with his delicious new boyfriend for a whirlwind two weeks of romance. The boyfriend was long gone, but the love affair with Florence had remained.

Antonio had spent many weekends after that vacation returning to contemplate the beautiful city, and had finally made up his mind to move here and open a café. He'd worked at a little café in Madrid for a long time, and knew the ins and outs thoroughly. The fact that the new one was in a foreign country didn't frighten him a whit. A deeply religious man (who managed to rationalize away his relationships with men, considering that God must understand, even if the Church didn't), Antonio had spent many hours in the beautiful Duomo praying for success in his new business, and he knew that he would indeed succeed.

The Café Spagnolo (Italian for "Spanish Café," which he still sometimes worried about, thinking it might be a little silly) was a little smaller than the cafe in Madrid had been, but more manageable as a result. He and his one employee would arrive at six, begin the day's baking, and open the doors at seven. It was 7:03 now; sandwich boards outside proclaimed the café's name and daily specials, the warm scent of fresh churros filled the air, and a customer was already walking in the door.

Antonio beamed at the man and led him to the counter, offering him a free cup of coffee for being the first-ever customer. Diana struck up a casual conversation and began to make his drink. Antonio stretched, still smiling, and watched with glee as some more customers walked in the door.

…

_Next up: Gilbert gives it a rest._


	23. Gilbert Gives it a Rest

**Gilbert Gives it a Rest.**

He took his beer out onto the balcony of his high-rise condo and sat cross-legged on the floor. It was a clear, starry night in late November, and Gilbert wanted to sort out his thoughts.

Felicia was bothering him. He could tell – or at least it _seemed_ – that she was quite interested in him. They had actually gone on a few dates, and had fun together, but – something was very wrong about this. She wouldn't even kiss him goodnight! Not even a little peck on the lips. Admittedly, she wore a metric crap-ton of lipstick, but Gilbert still would have kissed her if she'd let him. But she wouldn't. He knew he was infinitely kissable – countless people had proven this to him over the years – but…meh.

And of course, if she wouldn't kiss him, he obviously couldn't get any further with her, even though her lithe, slender body was very appealing. Damn it all.

Nuts. He resolutely pushed Felicia out of his brain and thought about the barista. He'd had such high hopes of that guy! And yet here it was four months later and they still hadn't even exchanged names. That guy kept blowing hot and cold – one day winking, smiling, blowing kisses at Gilbert, the next day not even looking up from his work. The albino had made up his mind a while ago that he was not going to actively pursue the barista. Not while the Felicia conflict was still going on. So he hadn't asked the guy his name, and the barista hadn't offered; a lot of days now, Gilbert went back to the old Starbucks, just to avoid him.

This afternoon – after getting the cold shoulder from the guy again – Gilbert had decided to give up on him entirely. He couldn't know whether the man was worth getting closer to, because he remained so distant from Gilbert, and it wasn't worth trying to force something while he was still confused about his stripper. _Dancer._

Arthur had gone out to dinner with him last week and they'd talked about this, but hadn't reached any useful conclusions. Gilbert absently swigged some beer and stared into the distant sky. He wondered how Arthur's love life was. It seemed he and Vargas were becoming friends, at least. That was good. Artie needed someone else to look out for him.

He raised the bottle to his lips again and found it empty. Rather than fetching another, he set it aside and lay back on the narrow balcony, watching the stars. Maybe this Felicia business had been a bad idea. Maybe he should have kept his old habits, dating here and there, no commitments. At least then he'd be out doing something fun tonight, not moping alone on his balcony, drinking beer.

Felicia wasn't worth it, he decided now, feeling the bite of the cold winter air on his face and hands. She could tease and tease; a stripper (_exotic dancer_) is experienced at that, and he would never get anywhere with her. Screw it. He'd dump her – at least temporarily – and have some fun during the Christmas season. People had kept inviting him to parties, and of course he'd accepted, assuming he'd have a date. Well, screw that too; he'd go stag, and maybe meet somebody new.

Gilbert sat up, reached for the empty beer bottle, and went back inside. Aha! He'd phone Arthur. That boy needed to socialize a little more, and if he went to some parties with Gilbert, it would serve a double duty. They hadn't spoken much since Arthur had moved into his new apartment. He checked his watch. Yeah, it wasn't too late. He'd give him a call.

…

_Next up: Francis molests a client._


	24. Francis Molests a Client

**Francis Molests a Client.**

"Ah, _monsieur_, you have a very good eye for cut and color," the fashionable blond commented, wheeling the rack of clothing into the fitting room and over to the privacy screen. "You will cut a striking figure in these suits."

"Yes, I hope I will," the man laughed as he followed Francis.

"We'll start with the shirts. Please change into the shirt of your choice. There is a changing screen there, for privacy. I need to get my work area set up." Francis locked the door of the fitting room and busied himself bringing pins, measuring tape, chalk, and a small handheld computer to the dais. The client nodded and began to remove his shirt, not even troubling to stand behind the screen.

Francis, at thirty, now worked for one of the more prestigious menswear boutiques in Paris. He too had a very good eye for cut and color, and M. Sébastien had hired him on the spot the day he'd walked in wearing his most fashionable suit. He'd been working here for several months now, earning an excellent wage, always dressing at the height of fashion. Some days he worried that his flashy wardrobe made him too much of a criminal target, but so far, he'd been safe.

No, the only real problem in his life was that Francis was oversexed.

He swept his longish blond hair back from his face while he arranged the things he needed, thoughtfully running a hand over his artistic beard stubble. Francis, who had several now-and-then girlfriends, was bisexual; this had been causing him some frustration in the job. Looking at, touching, measuring the clients every day, he often caught himself wanting to stroke his fingers over a client's skin lovingly. Caught himself wanting to pleasure some of these rich, powerful men with his dirty little French mouth in a way he knew would make them lose control and beg him for more. But that was the kind of activity that would lose him his job, he knew, and so far most of the clients he'd dealt with had been, well, resistible. The sight of a sagging derrière, an exposed paunch, or copious wrinkles did a lot to quench his desires.

But this client today – ah! _Monsieur_ was a fine, firm specimen of an older man, an executive visiting Paris. Tall, broad-shouldered, dark hair peppered with grey, he seemed completely uninhibited as he changed his shirt. Francis felt himself getting aroused already. _Quelle audace!_ This man had scars all over his arms and back, he had seen, and yet, he was smiling at Francis unashamed, waiting for the fitting to begin.

Francis cleared his throat. "_Bon_, _monsieur_, please come and stand on the dais."

…

He'd managed – by taking several short breaks throughout the fitting process – to get most of the clothing properly attended to, but had been quite distracted by the client's jovial, friendly manner; the man was not hesitant about touching Francis, clapping a hand on his shoulder or nudging him with an elbow when he made a joke. Francis' eyes twinkled as he appraised the man again. All the previous fittings had been taken while _monsieur_ tried on his various new garments; Francis had noted trouser leg length, sleeve length, and so on, for each garment. Now – "Now, _monsieur,_ I want to measure you without the clothing, for our records. Please remove everything but your undergarments." Not really for the records. Francis intended to satisfy himself in private, once this striking masculine client had left. It was excruciating; he had to do it.

"Fine with me," the man acquiesced. "How do you want me?" He grinned down at the kneeling blond, quickly stripping to his briefs. Francis nearly moaned aloud. Perhaps _monsieur_ understood? Approved? He decided to find out.

He eyed the dark-haired man as though considering where to start. "Very well. Please stand with your legs together and arms straight down at your sides." He held up the measuring tape and marked down the waist measurement, then the outer leg measurement from waist to cuff.

Francis then took a deep breath and skimmed the measuring tape deftly up the inside of the client's thigh, allegedly to take the inseam measurement. He allowed the back of his hand to press against the man's genitals through his briefs, feeling the warm pressure against his skin.

The client did not react. Did not jerk away, did not have a rush of breath or make any comment. Francis was slightly afraid to look up at his face, but did so anyway.

_Monsieur_ was smiling down at him. "Carry on," he said, which was too vague! Carry on with the measuring, or with the fondling? Well, he'd never find out with all this dithering. Francis dropped the measuring tape and boldly stroked his fingers up the client's thigh, earning himself a delighted smile. "Francis, if you feel you can't resist me, by all means, don't resist."

_Ohonhonhon._ What Francis now wished was a lot more intricate than he'd feel comfortable with, here in the dressing room at his place of employment. But he could certainly have a _little_ bit of fun. He smiled lazily and used both hands to peel off the red cotton briefs slowly, teasingly. The well-endowed client continued to smile down at him, hands on hips, as the Frenchman made his opening moves.

…

"_Monsieur_, we will have your garments shipped back to your home, as you requested," he said, leading the man to the front door of the boutique.

The client shook his hand. "_Merci,_ Francis," he grinned. "This place really has the best service of any boutique in Paris. See you in a few months."

Francis, relieved, smiled fondly at the man as he left the premises. _Delicious._

…

_Next: Keeping secrets._


	25. Keeping Secrets

**Keeping Secrets.**

"Ludwig! _Ludwig_! Come here, ve!" Feliciano jumped up and ran into his friend's kitchen, where Ludwig was cooking a German meal for them: Rouladen, red cabbage, and boiled potatoes. "Come here and read this!" He brandished his cell phone wildly. "Come on!"

"Just wait a moment, please." He slid the oven mitts off his hands and looked at Feli with a smile. "What has you so excited?"

"Come read this email! Ve, it's amazing!"

"It must be good. I've never heard you squeal like this before." Ludwig laughed a little as his boyfriend met his gaze, eyes wide. "Which email?" He took the phone.

"Oh, the one from Lovi, ve, sorry; I closed it up. The second one from Lovi."

"Are you sure you want to share his emails with me? Won't he be angry if he finds out?"

"Ve, yes, of course he will, which is why we're going to keep it a secret! Read, read!" Feliciano poked Ludwig eagerly.

Ludwig dutifully opened the email and read it. "Yes? I thought you said Lovino always came home for Christmas? I don't see what's so exciting."

"_Veee-e-e~_, Ludwig! Don't you see? He's _bringing a friend!_" Feliciano was so excited he started hopping up and down. "Lovi hasn't ever brought any friends from America. This might be something pretty serious." He nodded repeatedly.

"But his friend's name is Arthur. Surely you don't think –"

Feli stopped hopping. "Well. You are probably right, ve. Arthur is the man who now runs Lovi's gallery. So they probably are just friends, or colleagues, but still. Lovi never talks about having friends in America. This is a big step for him. He hasn't ever mentioned anyone but people he randomly has business dealings with. Ve, I hope this Arthur is a nice man." He rocked back on his heels and thought. "He must be nice, if Lovi considers him such a friend to bring him to Rome for Christmas." Now Feliciano began pacing. Ludwig stopped reading the email and stared – this agitation was quite unlike Feli. Quite unusual indeed.

"Do you suppose they're dating?" he asked somewhat mischievously.

But Feli didn't seem to sense that mischief and kept pacing. "No, probably not. I am pretty certain that Lovi would have told me about something like that, or at least hinted at it somehow. I might be wrong…sometimes I am…but I don't think so, ve. But, now, listen to me, Ludwig. Listen very carefully." He stopped pacing and faced his boyfriend. "I want to see them while they're here, of course; I always get together with Lovi when he comes home. So, if we see them and you're with me, we absolutely must not mention that we had this discussion! All right, ve? No speculation about their relationship, nothing like that at all. I don't want to frighten this Arthur away from Lovi, and I certainly do not want to make Lovi self-conscious about his friend. Do you understand? _Please_?"

Ludwig looked at that adorable face and caved in immediately, although he was not really the type to put the cat amongst the pigeons anyway. "Of course not, Feliciano. I can keep a secret as well as the next man."

"Ve, I hope so."

The timer on the oven began to beep and Ludwig hastily got up to attend to the meal. "Should we invite them for dinner one night?"

Feliciano had followed him into the kitchen. "I think not. You know how touchy Lovino can be at times. I don't think I could make my place neat enough for a group dinner, ve, and I don't think Lovi would say yes to a dinner at your place anyway." He sat at the table while Ludwig bustled about the kitchen.

"We could suggest a group dinner out somewhere? Perhaps that nice restaurant we went to with Lovino before?"

"Ve, with the dancing! Ah, well…I still think it might not be a good idea. I know you mean well, Ludwig; you're so good to me, trying to be friendly with my friends, but maybe we should just let Lovi make the decisions this time. I'm sure he'll invite us over."

"Whatever suits you, _Liebchen_. I'm happy to acquiesce." Ludwig pulled out plates and began to serve the meal.

"That smells wonderful. You're such a good cook." Feli reached for the bottle of wine and poured it.

"I have to be, if I want to eat German food around here. Rome really needs a good German restaurant."

"Ve. As long as you make such good German meals here, I'm not too bothered about restaurants! Let's eat. And remember what I said! No goading Lovi or his new friend about this. Not a word."

"Understood," Ludwig smiled, pulling out his chair. "My lips are sealed."

…

_Next: Roderich performs for the Swiss Federal Council._

_The only reason I didn't put these chapters into L&A is that I didn't think of it at the time! I apologize if you find it too confusing._


	26. Roderich Performs for the Swiss Federal

**Roderich Performs for the Swiss Federal Council.**

_Ah_. The music was perfection, tonight. Roderich and the other members of the ensemble were in perfect harmony with one another, even more so than usual.

Between pieces, he reflected on how serene he felt. He'd known they would play perfectly tonight. They had to. After a few years of playing at elegant weddings for spoiled, rich young couples (which admittedly earned them good money, but not critical acclaim), they'd finally won the opportunity to play at the Christmas festivities for the government. Tonight's performance would open the door to grander, and more frequent, occasions. The brunet closed his eyes and continued playing, effortlessly bringing his exquisite music to the ears of the assembled guests.

They performed for two hours, with only a short break in the middle; his companions were just as eager as he to make a good impression, to pave the way for more upscale audiences. During the break, sipping champagne, Roderich swept his haughty glance around the crowded reception room and his eyes met those of a green-eyed blond holding an untouched drink. He smiled encouragingly at the man, who crossed the room to him.

"Vash, once again I must thank you for using your influence here," Roderich told him in a warm tone, his eyes playing over the beloved features.

Vash, less sentimental, simply shrugged. "After hearing your ensemble perform at that wedding in October I did believe you were the most elegant, and best-suited, choice we could have made." He blushed a bit and looked down at his boots.

Roderich blushed a little, too. He'd been in love with Vash for years, ever since they'd been in prep school together, and although they'd stayed friendly and close all these years, he'd never been certain how to begin romantic overtures to his dear friend. The fact that Vash carried concealed all the time wasn't very encouraging, although Roderich was fairly certain his old friend wouldn't actually shoot him. Looking at the shy blond, he now smiled. Maybe booking Roderich's ensemble to play at the Christmas fete had been Vash's way of providing an opening? He sincerely hoped so. However, he'd proceed with care.

"Will you –"

"Are you –?"

Each of them interrupted himself, smiling wryly. "Please – you first," Roderich offered graciously.

Vash glanced around the room. "Are you planning to stay after your performance is done?"

_Would you like me to?_ Roderich asked in his mind, and then smiled softly. Vash wouldn't have asked, otherwise. "Yes, I thought I'd stay for a little while."

The blond nodded. "I'll introduce you to the council members, if you like."

"That's – that's thoughtful of you, my old friend," Roderich said in a low tone, making Vash blush again. "I hope – hope we will be able to see more of each other, if we continue to be hired for events."

"I hope so too," Vash mumbled.

One of Roderich's friends tapped him on the shoulder; the break was over. "I must go." He squeezed his friend's hand quickly. "Thank you again."

"It – it was nothing, really." The blond looked up and smiled briefly, and Roderich unwillingly tore himself away to return to the stage.

…

_Next: Matthew gets freaked out. _


	27. Matthew Gets Freaked Out

**Matthew Gets Freaked Out.**

"It's a nice day," Matthew pointed out to his receptionist, who was wearing unreasonably high heels today. "I'm going out for a little walk, might stop at Starbucks. Do you want any of your nonfat extra foam whatever?" He smiled sweetly at her.

She shrugged and wrote down her drink order for him.

"I should be back in half an hour. I need to think about some things."

As he wandered, planning to end up at a newish Starbucks down the street at the end of his walk, he thought about Alfred, who, as usual, hadn't been communicating much, now that Matthew had started sending him regular checks. Matthew could never decide if he preferred this – Alfred not pestering him – or preferred it the other way, when maybe his brother was a pest, but at least remembered his generous twin's existence.

He sighed. For now, he'd enjoy his pest-free life. He really didn't have much of a choice.

People on the street jostled him almost without seeing him. Matthew Williams had become accustomed to this, over the years. Another comforting measure of anonymity. He paced onward, the new Starbucks finally in sight. He hadn't yet visited this one.

Inside, the place was pretty empty; well, it was a slow hour, he suspected. He walked up to the register and ordered both his maple drink and the drink for his secretary. The girl at the cash register swiped his gift card and smiled as she directed him to the waiting area.

There was only one other customer before him, an older woman who checked her cell phone while waiting for her drink. The barista, a green-eyed man with longish blond hair tied back, finished mixing it and handed her the cup with a word of thanks; she moved off without acknowledging it, without even looking up from the phone. Matthew always considered that type of behavior to be very ill-bred. He moved closer to the counter to wait for his order.

When the barista looked up he smiled at Matthew. Something about it made the businessman uneasy, but he hesitantly smiled back. "You're, like, new to this location, right? Am I right?" The man tilted his head a little, but kept smiling.

Matthew jittered a bit. "Yes, yes, I am," he admitted, not understanding why he felt so uncomfortable. "You know all the customers here?" he asked, just to make polite conversation.

"Well, not really, not yet, but I totally would have remembered someone as cute as you." The barista winked at him.

Matthew felt himself blushing like an idiot. Was this guy actually flirting with him? Oh, he hoped not. Alfred might be gay, but Matthew was absolutely not, and he couldn't stand the overt teasing Alfred's boyfriends always aimed at him. Just because the two of them were twins! And then, the disgusting idea of playing with some other man's –

Here he realized he'd been frowning instead of answering the man, who had finished making the first drink (luckily, Matthew's Frappuccino, which he picked up and sipped desperately, just for something to occupy himself). "Th-thank you," he managed, focusing on the drink, not meeting the barista's eyes, feeling the soothing flavor of the maple on his tongue.

"Like, no problem." The barista handed him the second drink, licking his lips a little.

Matthew grasped the new cup in a panic and fled the store, calling back a feeble "Thank you" over his shoulder.

He was never, never, never going to go to that Starbucks again.

…

_Next: Ludwig is understandably concerned._


	28. Ludwig is Understandably Concerned

**Ludwig is Understandably Concerned.**

As they walked down the imposing outer staircase of Lovino's Roman mansion after the disastrous dinner, Feliciano let out a big, deep sigh. "_Ve…_sorry, Ludwig."

"Please don't feel you need to apologize at all," the blond countered. "You were very sociable tonight. Lovino, on the other hand –"

"I don't even know what's got him so tense. I mean, I know he gets short-tempered around strangers, but I wouldn't have thought that tonight would be a night like that, ve. It was just us, and Arthur."

"Perhaps he was simply worried about how you would react to Arthur? If you are both such close friends to Lovino, he might have been nervous that the two of you would not get along." Ludwig unlocked his car doors and held the door for Feli.

"Thank you," the Italian said absently, sitting down and buckling his seat belt.

Once Ludwig had buckled up and driven away, Feli picked up the conversation again. "But it was easy to get along with Arthur! Ve, I was going to act very friendly and nice, anyway, to reassure Lovi, but I didn't even have to put on an act. He is a very nice man, very friendly."

"I agree. It makes me wonder how he got to be so friendly with Lovino, since your friend is always so surly. Do – ah – you've mentioned that Lovino sometimes has trouble with fortune hunters. Is it possible that this Arthur is just pretending to be close to him for just that reason?"

"Ve, I don't think so. I'm no expert people-watcher, but I was paying pretty close attention to them the whole night. And maybe you didn't notice, but every time Lovi yelled at someone, Arthur tried to calm him down, by changing the subject, or at least speaking more reasonably, and sometimes it worked. At least, every time Arthur talked to him, Lovi stopped yelling. I think Arthur is a genuine friend, or, he wants to be. Wants to support him, ve. And I think Lovi understands that."

Ludwig rubbed his chin. "But in that case I wonder why Lovino wants to be friends with him. If Arthur makes him yell and so forth."

"Well, this is what's puzzling me, ve. If I knew what had set Lovi off, then I could tell. I don't know if Arthur makes him yell – and in that case, why does Lovi want to be his friend, why did he bring him to Rome? – or if it was something else."

"Maybe it's something completely different. Bad investments? Bad memories of Christmas?"

"Ve, you might have something there, Ludwig. Bad memories of Christmas, maybe. I don't really know."

"Lovino is always so stressed when he's with us. I had hoped we could spend a relaxing evening with him and Arthur tonight. But I'm glad you decided we should leave. I – I wasn't having much fun at all," the blond confessed.

"I know, Ludi. But thank you for trying. You did a good job, and I'm proud of you." Feli patted his arm, and Ludwig felt himself blushing. "I think maybe I'll try to spend some time alone with Lovi before they go back and see if I can figure this out. Is that all right with you?"

"Yes, of course it is. If it's important to make sure your friend is all right, then you should take the time to work it out. I don't mind at all." He pulled into the parking lot of his townhome. "I'm glad you're staying with me for Christmas Eve, Feliciano."

Feli beamed at him, unclipping the seat belt. "Me too. Me too, ve!"

…

_Next: Ivan gets a text message._


	29. Ivan Gets a Text

**Ivan Gets a Text.**

Alfred was a bit disturbed.

Truthfully? More than just a bit.

He and Ivan had indeed come to Vegas for Christmas and the following week. They'd been having a blast! Going to shows, gambling, _winning…_he'd even told Ivan about Matthew's business dealings, and so each of them got a maple drink from the local Starbucks now, every morning, to support their supplemented income from Alfred's twin. Of course Alfred had sent Mattie a Vegas postcard to let him know how generous they were being.

Yes, Vegas was everything he'd hoped it would be. Alfred loved America, and this city was a shining example of everything that was best in the country. Or so he'd claimed. Ivan hadn't seemed to care one way or the other; they'd frolicked all week, drinking and laughing and loving.

Until this morning. While they'd sat inside the cozy coffee shop on this cold post-Christmas morning, chatting of nothing in particular, Ivan's phone had beeped.

"Probably the boss, wondering when we'll be back, da?" he'd laughed before checking it.

As Alfred had watched his lover's face, he'd felt a chill settle into the pit of his stomach. Still laughing, Ivan had turned on the screen and frozen – keeping the smile still on his face – and then simply put the phone away after reading the message. No longer laughing. Ivan had given Alfred a long, cool look, and then suggested they leave the coffee shop.

"Not the boss?" Alfred had tried to joke.

"Nyet." And that had been all the explanation Ivan had tendered.

The rest of the day, Alfred had overexerted himself to be jolly, to find new fun things for them. Ivan had gone along with it, had even seemed to be having fun, but the blond had been unable to shake the distressing feeling he'd had when the message had come through. "Trouble at home?" he'd ventured, once, over a roulette wheel.

"Don't worry your little head about it, da?" Ivan had patted Alfred on the head with a cheery grin.

Now, they were back in the hotel room. Ivan was acting – well, _different_ was the only word for it. He'd asked – _asked!_ – Alfred to top tonight! That alone was enough to give the blond the shivers. Ivan never _asked_. They always had to fight for it.

But perhaps this was a new thing he wanted to try. Perhaps he was simply interested in seeing what it was like to be genuinely submissive. Alfred was always turned on by his cool Russian lover, and tonight was no exception; he performed admirably, although a tiny disengaged compartment of his mind was still worrying about that text message.

Ivan seemed to be enjoying things, though, so he forced that thought out of his head and brought things to completion.

As they drifted off to sleep in each other's arms, Ivan mumbled, "I have to go to San Francisco next week, _Moj malen'kij Zolotoj Medved'."_

"Mm." Alfred tried to focus, but he was too sleepy. "'Kay." Then this soaked into his brain and he woke up fully. Rather than panicking, he tried to be calm and ask, "Want me to go with you?"

"No, is okay. Sleep."

Within minutes, Ivan was snoring like a big Russian bear, but Alfred lay awake for hours, tossing and turning. He almost got out of bed to read that text message, but was kind of scared of what Ivan might do if he caught him.

…

In the morning, Ivan was back to normal. They wrapped up their Vegas vacation happily – several thousand dollars richer than when they'd arrived – and headed back to Paradise. Ah. Maybe Alfred had been overreacting. He'd keep his eyes and ears open, though, and see what happened.

…

_Next: Gilbert learns the truth._

_Online translators tell me "_Moj malen'kij Zolotoj Medved'_" is the transliteration for "my little golden bear." I hope that's right; I translated it back and forth a few times on different sites and it seems right. Alfred _is_ a little golden bear!_


	30. Gilbert Learns the Truth

_I haven't felt much like writing lately, so I'll give you what I've got._

_..._

**Gilbert Learns the Truth.**

"You – you should, like, come to the club tonight, Gilbert." Felicia's voice on the phone was sweet and pleading.

Gilbert huffed a bit. She was probably trying to soften him up for a New Year's date; too bad, he already had one. He hadn't even talked to the stripper for a couple of weeks. Well, he'd try playing hard to get. "Why? What's going on at the club that's so special?" Man, he knew that was harsh, but he really was tired of her teasing.

"I – I have something I totally want to share with you," she said, still sweetly, but this time a little more hesitant. "Something I should have shared with you, like, a long time ago."

Hah. Maybe she was still teasing? But _something I want to share with you_ sounded too good to be true; would he finally be able to get his hands on her? They still hadn't even kissed! Gilbert was so busy turning this over in his mind that he completely forgot he was on the phone until Felicia said meekly, "Uh? Gilbert?"

What the hell. He had no other plans tonight. "Sure, what the hell. What time?"

"Cool!" she squealed. "Come early! At seven-thirty, okay? Like, come to the dressing room and you can help me get ready."

Sounded a bit weird. Maybe she wanted to make love in the dressing room? Hell, he'd play along. "Fine. I'll see you in the dressing room at seven-thirty."

"Oh, Gilbert, I totally can't wait to see you. Bye-bye!"

Gilbert hung up the phone. This was too weird. It was near quitting time; maybe he'd go get a cup of coffee after work.

…

When he walked into the newer coffee shop his eyes automatically scanned the counter for the flirty barista, who was indeed there; when the guy saw Gilbert, his eyes widened, he got a huge smile on his face, and then he yelped and ran into the back room.

Gilbert ordered his drink and waited around for a few minutes, but the guy didn't come back out. The albino shrugged and left.

…

Gilbert didn't get to the club until 7:45. Of course he didn't want to appear too eager. The manager let him backstage with a frown. Well, Felicia wouldn't have invited him if she were going to get in trouble for it. Maybe the manager was just nervous around Gilbert. Hah.

He knocked on the door and walked in without waiting for an invitation.

The albino's brain froze in confusion. This wasn't Felicia! "Oops. Sorry," he said, trying to back out, before he realized the guy in the bathrobe was the flirty barista. "What?"

"H-hello, Gilbert," the man said.

"What? How do you know my name?" He _knew_ they'd never introduced themselves at Starbucks. He'd been making bets with himself to see how long it would take the guy, and the barista had never once asked.

"Please sit down?"

Well, this was bizarre, but he might as well sit and talk to the guy while he waited for Felicia.

Wait. What was a _guy_ doing in a strip club dressing room? Gilbert was mighty perplexed at this point. Maybe he was a bouncer, or a bartender?

The barista stood up and began removing his bathrobe. "Wait! What – what are you – _doing_," Gilbert ended up whispering, as the bathrobe fell away, revealing the pink bra and panties that Felicia favored. "What?" he said again. If he hadn't been sitting down, he might have collapsed. This was way weird.

The barista picked up a wig. Felicia's hair. So it was a wig, Gilbert thought, before trying to drag his mind back to reality. The man spoke in his normal deep voice. "Gilbert…my name is Feliks Łukasiewicz. I – I'm totally the barista at the Starbucks, you know, but…I'm also, like, Felicia."

Gilbert sat in shock.

Gilbert continued to sit in shock.

Finally Feliks (_really Felicia?) _snapped his fingers in Gilbert's face. "Hello? Are you, like, all right? I have to totally start getting dressed for the show."

And then Gilbert finally saw all the funny sides of this situation and began laughing. "Kesesese! This is amazing! Oh, Arthur!" he told his absent friend, before laughing again. "Awesome! Is this why you never wanted to let me kiss you?"

Feliks/Felicia nodded and settled the wig on his head.

Damn it, this was going to be really confusing. Gilbert decided to think of him – her – as Felicia while they were in the club. So, _she_ settled the wig on _her_ head. Right. "And it's also why you got so shy of me at Starbucks! Right?"

Felicia, applying makeup, met his eyes in the mirror and nodded with a small smile. "I totally wasn't sure if you'd be interested in men at all, you know. And then, even if you were, this is, like, a really weird situation."

"I'll say." Well. Things were definitely looking up. "Want to go out after the show?"

Felicia turned right around from the mirror and looked at him. "You mean – you – you _do_ date men?" she squealed.

"Sure, I do. All the time."

"Uh. Do you have a – a boyfriend? Or a girlfriend?" Felicia was back eying herself in the mirror, applying lipstick with a brush; when she finished, she popped her lips and pouted at him.

Gilbert was entranced, watching the transformation. "Nope. Nobody. Oh, I have a lot of dates lined up, but that's all they are, just random dates. I'd – _totally_ love to go out with you tonight. Either Felicia or Feliks."

Felicia turned to him and smiled seductively, and Gilbert was floored at how beautiful she was now. "Tonight I'll be Felicia for you," she purred, "since you've been totally patient with her. All right?"

"All right! I'll go get a seat. Wow. This is turning out to be a very awesome night," he beamed.

Just as Gilbert was about to go out the door, Feliks' deeper voice arrested his progress. "Oh, and Gilbert? Who's Arthur?"

Gilbert laughed. "Tell you later, sweetie. Break a leg."

Felicia blew him a kiss; he went out front and got a prime seat. The albino had a lot to think about.

…

_Next: Bye-bye, Ivan!_


	31. Abandonment

**Abandonment.**

Alfred awoke after noon. He stretched and groped for his glasses. The winter light was grey and cool, not giving much illumination to their tiny uncurtained bedroom. He stretched again, grinning, and wondered whether he and Ivan should think about moving to a bigger – nicer – place.

Huh. Ivan must be out. He couldn't hear him puttering around. Alfred got out of bed and cleaned himself up, dressing in jeans and a bright red polo shirt, because he'd have to go to work later. He went into the little kitchen for some coffee.

The blond sat at the counter with his coffee and toast, thinking about Ivan. He'd gone to San Francisco for two days – two days in which Alfred had continued to worry, though he'd managed to keep it below the panic level. He'd managed to put his fears aside during work, being the cheerful and attentive bartender that everyone liked to see, but during his times away from work, the American had been a bundle of nerves.

He didn't like that feeling. Didn't like feeling so dependent on someone else's goodwill.

But, you know, Ivan loved him, he was sure of it. So there was really nothing to worry about.

And in fact, the Russian had returned in a very happy frame of mind, being extra-attentive to Alfred as if to make up for his unexplained absence. He'd taken on more of the chores, cooking and keeping the apartment cleaner (Alfred was very happy about this in particular: Ivan was a messy pig). He'd even boxed up and donated some old clothes to charity. That had been last week. Things had been pretty good since his return.

He wondered where Ivan was now. His coat and shoes were missing, so he was probably at the store or something. Alfred knew that Ivan wasn't scheduled to work tonight. Well, he'd probably see him before then. Maybe he'd come to the bar anyway and have a drink. They often did that when the other was working, just to hang out together.

Time rolled on, and eventually Alfred had to leave for work. Forgetting to take his cell phone, he locked up the still-Ivanless apartment and went.

…

Wah. Alfred plodded home from the bar. A worse than usual night; half his mind had been on his boyfriend, the other half on work. He'd been distracted and edgy the whole night, constantly scoping the noisy room to see if Ivan had come in and gotten a drink without greeting him. But no. At least, not that he'd seen.

He was glad they lived close enough to walk to work. Alfred stumbled up the stairs and unlocked the door to the dark apartment. "Ivan?" he called out.

No answer. Still no shoes and coat.

The blond scooped up the mail where it had come through the slot in the door and flicked a light switch on. He was due a check from Mattie, but it wasn't here. Throwing the mail onto the kitchen counter, he frowned and walked through the place, switching lights on, looking for the Russian, checking the bed.

Nope. No sign of him. No sign that he'd even been back yet. Was he in trouble? Maybe he'd gotten stuck somewhere, because of the winter weather. Alfred reached into his coat pocket for his cell phone before remembering that he'd left it at home today. He took off his shoes and coat before going in search of it.

Damn it. The battery was flat. With a snort of annoyance, he plugged it in and went to watch TV (and wait for Ivan) while it charged up. He'd call Ivan when it had enough juice, make sure he wasn't in trouble somewhere.

Alfred fell asleep on the couch, eventually; it was only when he slumped violently sideways to land on the seat cushions that he woke up and processed his surroundings. He lay still, fixing his glasses, thinking of bed, and then remembered about the empty apartment. Stumbling a little, still sleepy, he turned off the TV and went into the bedroom, hoping Ivan had sneaked in and gone to bed without disturbing him.

But no. The bed was still empty. He was really worried now. Ivan couldn't be in trouble, no, he just couldn't. But if he was, Alfred would heroically go to his rescue, even if he had to spend all his Mattie money on a cab.

Oh! The cell phone. He got up and reached for it; the battery was now fully-charged. Alfred clicked it on and checked for text messages: none. But there were a few missed calls. All from Ivan. And one voice mail.

"Please be all right, please be all right," he prayed to the phone, as it pulled up the voice mail.

"_Medvezhonok_! You forgot your cell phone again, didn't you?" Ivan's voice was cheerful as he remonstrated with Alfred this way. "It is all right. I know how forgetful you can be, da? I had wanted to talk to you in person, but I guess that can't happen. Please call me when you get this message, even if it's the middle of the night."

That chill returned to the pit of Alfred's stomach. Trying to dial Ivan's number, he fumbled the phone and it fell on the floor. He walked closer to get it and accidentally kicked it; it skittered under the couch. "Damn it," he blurted out, bending to retrieve it.

When he finally had the phone in hand, he sat on the couch and dialed with a trembling hand.

"Hello, little bear! I am glad you finally remembered where your cell phone was."

"I – Ivan? Are you all right? Do you need help?" Alfred asked, somewhat feebly, because by now he was pretty sure that Ivan hadn't had an accident.

"I need no help at all, _Medvezhonok_, but you might. I'm in San Francisco. Do you remember me telling you about my last relationship?"

What? Alfred tried to think through his panic. "Y-yes. A ballet dancer?"

"Da. My little Raivis has decided he wants me back, Alfred, and I love him so much. I'm going to go with him, travel with the ballet as a stagehand. So I won't be back. Understood?"

Raivis? That word was a _man's name_? "Ivan!" Alfred went right from panic to righteous indignation. "You don't break up with someone over the phone," he snapped, forgetting he'd done that exact same thing to Arthur. "Anyway, what do you mean, you love him so much? What about me?"

Ivan's laughter, which Alfred had always loved, now sounded a bit sinister. "Ah, you're a very fun man, and I'll always remember you as my little honey bear, but…Raivis is the one who holds my heart. I'm never going to let him dump me again."

"You bastard," Alfred hissed, but it just made Ivan laugh. "How can you do this to me?"

"Tell me, Alfred. If your Arthur wanted you back, would you go?"

"No! It's you I want, Ivan. If Arthur had meant that much to me, I'd never have come with you to California in the first place."

"Sorry to hear that, _Medved'_, but I'm not coming back. I wish you all the luck in the world, little one. You were a very accommodating boyfriend."

"Gah! Damn it! Ivan, listen to me –" Alfred punched his lap, and then got up and began to pace.

"Nope. I have to go; Raivis is waiting in the bed," Ivan said with evident joy, twisting the knife. "Oh, by the way, your brother's check came yesterday, and I took it and cashed it. You don't really need the money."

"_What?_" All thoughts of breakups, sadness, panic fled from his mind. This was _money_ they were talking about. Matthew's money! The Russian shouldn't have that, but Alfred knew it would be impossible to get it back. "I'm going to – to sell all your stuff, you cold-hearted bastard."

Ivan laughed cheerfully again. "Go right ahead. I already took everything I want. Oh, and I'm never going to drink another one of those horrible maple drinks again. Best of luck to you, little bear!"

The line went dead.

Alfred's pacing had taken him to the bedroom. He sat on the bed with a plop. Where to start? A long-distance breakup? Abandoned for a ballet dancer? Mattie's money? _No maple?_

It took about twenty minutes before his brain settled down and began to think straight. Well. He knew Ivan meant what he'd said. The Russian wouldn't be back. Alfred pushed down his heartache and tried to work out what to do next. He stayed seated on the bed for hours, thinking.

Eventually the sun rose, bringing with it new optimism. By this point two things were crystal-clear and joyous in Alfred's mind.

One: He didn't need to stay in Paradise! He could go back to Washington, to the big city, a real life. Maybe even get a job there, something so he didn't have to float around all day and be bored. And –

Two: Arthur was probably still living in Washington.

Alfred got a very calculating grin on his face. He used his cell phone to check his bank balance, did a quick sweep through the apartment to see what he needed to pack, and called the bar to leave a voice message telling them he quit. Tomorrow (later today) he'd go pick up the pay that was due him (and if there was any due for Ivan, he'd make damn sure to take that too), pack up what he wanted, cancel the lease and catch a flight home.

He sent his twin a quick text: "Coming home. Don't send money." Alfred laughed a little, tears pricking behind his eyes, wondering what Matthew would think when he read a request to _not_ send money.

But Alfred couldn't fight the tears anymore; when the text had been sent, he took off his glasses and buried his face in a pillow, crying his heart out.

That Russian bastard.

…

_Your reviews really do inspire me. I was going to make this another short, basic chapter, but kastiyana's in-depth comments about Alfred's personality and development made me go deeper on this one. Thanks to _everyone_ who reviews. In this story especially, I'm able to take your comments and suggestions and work them into future chapters; I don't have as much of a firm story line planned, so it can be adapted._

_Now I want to do something romantically nice for Alfred, even though I know he's going to continue being a pest for a very long time...sigh..._

_"Medvezhonok" is "little bear," and "Medved'" is "bear." _

_Next: Back in DC._


	32. Brotherly Love

**Brotherly Love.**

"You brought it on yourself, you know," Matthew said with a smug grin. "Pay me back my money." Of course he had no hopes of getting that money back, but it was kind of nice to have the upper hand with Alfred for a change. He intended to enjoy it while it lasted, however briefly.

"I can't do that, Mattie. He took it all." Alfred sat on the couch and sank his head into his hands. He'd been acting very weird since he got back. One minute up, the next down. They'd been sitting in Matthew's small Arlington house for the last two hours, and he'd been trying to worm the story out of his twin. It was finally beginning to come out in dribs and drabs. He was slightly worried, because Alfred looked a mess – unkempt and uncaring – which was unlike his strutting peacock of a brother.

Alfred explained about the money in a broken voice. "And – and he said he was never going to drink another –" Here he interrupted himself, looking at Matthew in anguish. "Never mind. It's not important." He sighed. "Mattie, I – I really need to thank you for taking care of me."

"Money is easy, eh? I just wish you'd be a little more responsible sometimes. Meet me halfway."

But his brother didn't appear to be listening. Well, that was no surprise. Matthew delivered a lecture of this ilk about once a month, when they got together, and he was now a year overdue. Of course Alfred would ignore it.

"Do you have any job openings?" Alfred pleaded, giving him what Matthew always thought of as the "baby bird" look: blue eyes wide, mouth parted slightly like a beak awaiting a worm.

"Don't be an idiot, Alfred. You wouldn't want to go work on a maple farm!" It didn't take a genius to figure that one out.

"I didn't mean that! I meant here, something in an office."

"You're not even qualified for anything! If you hadn't dropped out of college…"

"Matthew! I'm trying to be serious here."

"There's a first time for everything, I guess." Matthew leaned back against the mantelpiece, smirking. Serious, hah!

Locked in a standoff, the twins glared each other down. Matthew, to his surprise, won the staring contest, as Alfred stood up to go look out the window. "I _was_ trying to be serious."

"Well, that's great, Al, but…I don't have any jobs. Here in Washington all I have is my secretary, and I'm not going to fire her and make _you_ my secretary." He snorted. "Go work in a coffee shop."

"Lame. Besides, I can't even think about looking at ma—" Alfred interrupted himself again, appearing to think about something. "No coffee shops," he finally decided. "I'll look for something."

"A coffee shop is about the best you can hope for. Or cleaning toilets in a hotel." Oh, this was fun.

"Shut up."

Matthew darted a grin at his brother's back. Ah, well, he didn't like it when Alfred suffered. He'd stop teasing.

He _really_ didn't like it when Alfred suffered. For one thing, it was pretty rare. And Alfred always seemed to go off the rails in a big way when he had some personal upheaval, and it made everyone else miserable. Predominantly Matthew, because he was the first one Al ran to, when he was in trouble. The younger twin sighed. "I'm going out for a walk. Want to come with me?"

Alfred finally turned from the window. "I don't think so. I need to figure out what to do. Can I crash here for a while?"

Matthew narrowed his eyes. "How long is 'a while'?"

"How long are you willing to put up with me for?" Alfred smiled sweetly, and Matthew got wholly irritated. How come _he_ could never manage that kind of smile, that smile that made everyone want to drop what they were doing and hug you? They were twins, for crying out loud; he should be able to make every expression that Al could make. But no. Matthew hardened his heart.

"One week."

To his amazement Alfred shrugged. "It won't be a whole week. I should be out of your hair in a few days. Just let me find a place."

"Pay for it yourself."

"Mattie! You're really being harsh to me today." Alfred pouted. Another expression he could manipulate at will. When Matthew tried pouting, he looked like he was bilious. Well, he didn't need to manipulate people as much as Al did. Hah.

"You don't think you deserve it, you sponge?" Matthew kicked the couch. "I'm going out. Don't steal any of my stuff and sell it. Go look for a job or an apartment."

"Nah. I'm going to take a shower and head down to the diner. I'll see ya later." Matthew nodded, putting on his red-and-white ski jacket and heading out the door.

Once outside, he permitted himself a miniscule expression of fury. "Blast it." (He'd always felt comfortable with understated British expletives, rather than the vulgarities that Alfred sometimes spouted.)

He knew how things would go. Al would either beg him to stay longer – which really wasn't a problem except for the nuisance factor of having him around all the time – or rent some swank apartment that he expected his brother to foot the bill for. Then there would be a constant round of begging, of late-night distress calls, of a bored Alfred wanting Matthew to play hooky from work and go play around to relieve his personal tedium. If only Alfred could understand what real life was all about! "It's not just _playtime_, Al," he barked aloud, startling someone.

"Excuse me?" she asked. He glanced up to see a pretty young woman in a long dark coat and matching beret. Dirty blonde hair peeked out from the hat's edges; her eyes were a pale, shining blue, looking confused.

Matthew stopped walking and tried to give her the sweet smile. Huh. Maybe it worked. She smiled back. "Forgive me," he offered quietly. "I was merely thinking out loud as I walked."

"I understand. I do that too, but with these dogs, it's the only way I can hear myself think!"

He now realized she was holding the leashes of several dogs. "These are all yours?" he asked in amazement, forgetting for the moment his usual shyness in front of women.

She laughed. "No. I'm a dog walker. When their owners are at work I take care of the dogs for them."

"There's actually a market for that?" the businessman asked, intrigued. He reached down to pet a big black dog that was sitting quietly on the sidewalk. Sounded like a job even dumb Al could handle. He was terrific with dogs, but Matthew preferred the quiet predictability of cats.

"There is. Washington is full of busy businesspeople who like to have dogs around on the weekend but are too busy during the week. I actually prefer cats, but – well, have you ever tried putting a cat on a leash?" She laughed her charming laugh again and Matthew chuckled as well.

One of the dogs began straining against its leash; he realized he was probably delaying her from completing her work. "I – I'm sorry," he told her, trying the sweet smile again. "I don't mean to keep you. Good luck with your dogs!" He stepped aside so she could pass.

"Thank you. Have a great afternoon!" The young woman walked off with a cheery wave. Matthew watched her leave, standing on the sidewalk for several minutes, Alfred temporarily forgotten.

…

_I love the Soviet military uniform on Ukraine. Well, maybe she's a cliché partner for Mattie, but the idea really is growing on me since I've never written her. _

_If you have any suggestions for her characterization, feel free to shoot them my way. Other than the "no money for the gas bill" and giving Russia her scarf, I can't remember much. I'll do some research, but your comments, as always, do help._

_Next: Awkward dining at a lakeside restaurant._


	33. Lakeside Dining

**Lakeside Dining.**

The restaurant was lovely. He'd never been to this one before. The air was scented with a warmed evergreen aroma; perhaps with cinnamon? He couldn't be sure. All he knew was that his very nervous friend had tried to be offhand about suggesting they meet for dinner tonight.

Roderich was quite intrigued.

He'd dressed up; of course he had. Roderich dressed up at the drop of a hat. He did consider that perhaps he'd be overdressed, but didn't mind much. The Austrian liked to cut a handsome figure in public. No, what astonished him was how elegant Vash appeared tonight. He wore a suit of deep, dark plum, almost black, but the subtle shading in the garments brought out the fierce green of his eyes and turned his somber demeanor into something mysterious.

In fact, if Roderich hadn't known Vash so well, he'd believe the blond was a very mysterious man indeed. But he knew the reserve was simply his friend's introverted nature, not a façade. That was one of the things he liked best about him. Vash was a focused man, not frivolous like so many others.

Yes, Roderich was intrigued, and he intended to let Vash direct the evening. He didn't even think the blond was carrying a gun tonight. That in itself made a bold statement. The Austrian reached for his wine glass and inclined it subtly towards his friend as a toast.

But Vash hadn't spoken since they'd been seated, other than to place his order. The brunet decided to give the conversation a push. "The new fiscal year is going well?"

Vash nodded. Then, perhaps realizing he was being ungracious, he focused on his friend and continued. "Yes, we have everything under control, surprisingly. It looks like this will be a very profitable year; everyone is under budget!" He smiled in wonder, as if this were a rare occurrence. Perhaps it was. Roderich was quite unfamiliar with business and government, although of course at school they'd studied these things. He was content to allow others to handle the business end of their musical performances. Stick him in front of a piano and he didn't know the world existed.

So he didn't know how to continue the conversation. "That's – good?" he hazarded. Vash merely nodded in response and scanned the restaurant.

They sat together quietly a little while longer; Roderich was frantically trying to think of something to talk about to put his friend at ease. This was practically a date! What Roderich had wanted for years! And they were sitting here like a couple of lumps of cheap cheese. He decided to be a bit more forward. "Vash, you know we have been friends for such a very long time."

Vash's head snapped up and he nodded before examining his plate. "Yes. Your friendship has always been a consolation for me, even during those times when we have not seen each other often." This last was mumbled a bit; it made Roderich smile. "I'm very happy that you're living in Zurich now, so that we can spend time together. And I would like to speak with you more about that, but – not here in the restaurant. Perhaps after dinner we could walk along the lake promenade?"

"It's a bit cold, but I don't mind at all. But please, Vash, relax. I can see that something is making you uncomfortable, and it won't be a very enjoyable da—meal, if you're worrying about something."

The blond's mouth quirked into a tiny smile. "Thank you."

He did make an effort. For the rest of the meal the conversation, if a bit dry, continued. When the waiter offered dessert, Vash waved him away. Roderich bit his lip. He loved dessert. But it was evident now that his friend wanted to get out of the restaurant and go for that walk; dessert could wait. Besides, he had a little Sachertorte in his refrigerator; he could eat that when he got home.

…

"So please, my friend, unburden yourself. You know I'd help you with any problem."

"Well, I –" Vash still appeared uncomfortable, and then he mumbled something.

"Forgive me. I didn't hear what you said."

"I want to go on a date with you!" Vash yelled, reflexively reaching for a gun that wasn't there. He then stopped in his tracks, turning away, and covered his face with both hands. "Never mind. Forget it. I'm leaving." He turned to go, but Roderich grabbed his arm.

"Vash. Don't go. _Please_ don't go. I – " The brunet hesitated as his friend turned back warily. Roderich dropped his eyes and spoke from the heart. "I've been too weak, too nervous to ask you. But I would like that too. All these years, I –"

He stopped talking when he felt Vash step closer to him. "You're serious?"

Roderich nodded and then forced himself to meet his friend's brilliant eyes. "Ever since we were in school together," he confessed somewhat brokenly. "But I was never sure how you'd respond. I – I was afraid you might – might – oh, forget it."

"Might shoot you?" Vash asked, with a hint of mischief in his voice. Roderich nodded. "Ah, I wouldn't shoot _you_, my old friend." He held out his arm gallantly and the brunet took it with a small smile; they began to walk along the lake promenade once more. "Besides, at school the most harm I could have done would have been an arrow in your butt during archery class." He seemed lost in memories. "I might have shot that damn Lovino, though."

"What? Why?" Certainly Roderich's roommate Lovino had been an ill-tempered bastard, but –

"Jealous. He got to dance with you all the time, and I was stuck with scary old Berwald."

The gist of this conversation finally sank into Roderich's mind, and he stumbled on the path; Vash supported him as he stood upright again. "You aren't kidding me, are you? About dating?"

"Never been more serious in my life." The blond squeezed his friend's bicep. "What do you think?"

"You can be such an idiot sometimes, Vash," Roderich smiled. "Yes. I'm not kidding either."

They walked on, each wreathed in grins, and then Roderich spoke. "I have a freshly-made Sachertorte at home. Would you like to come over for dessert?"

"Sachertorte is wonderful," his friend said. "I'd love to."

…

_This one was a bit hard to write. I don't write them that often and it's getting harder for me to write romance for people who are not Arthur and Lovino! I hope it was all right._

_Next: Alfred provokes some people. Badly._


	34. Picking Up the Pieces

**Picking up the Pieces.**

Alfred dressed with care – casually, of course, but still paying fairly close attention to his outfit – before leaving Matthew's house and heading downtown. He was in an excellent mood today. This past week he'd gotten reoriented, made a halfhearted effort to find a job (mainly just so he could tell Mattie "I looked for a job today"), and set out a plan of attack.

A plan to get Arthur back. Alfred was lonely already, and he knew it'd be easy to get Arthur back in his arms.

Dimly, he knew he'd behaved badly with the Brit. He knew that. But he didn't let himself think about it too much. The parallels with Ivan were still too raw, too new. (Alfred knew he'd jump back into Ivan's arms, if he had the chance, and so he'd concluded that Arthur would do the same to him.) All he had to do was focus, be upbeat, confident, _heroic_. Arthur had believed they'd shared something special, which is why he'd uprooted himself to follow Alfred to Washington. With a belief like that, Alfred could win him back. Maybe he could move in with Artie! That would sure make Mattie happy. Alfred would love to have a complaisant boyfriend around 24/7 – well, except when he had to go work at this gallery, of course. Hmm.

After seeking and not finding him at the diner earlier in the week, Alfred had gone to his old apartment, but some stranger was living there. This had confused him, but luckily, he'd run into his friend Gilbert, who had so thoughtfully provided him with the name of Arthur's new workplace. And that's where the American was headed now.

"Ow!" He bumped into a woman walking a bunch of dogs. Ordinarily he would have stopped; Alfred loved dogs, but he had Arthur on the brain and so he just blurted out a cursory "sorry" before walking on.

"Oh!" the young woman said, but by then he was halfway down the block, lost in his planning.

He really hoped Arthur would be alone at this place. Alfred had worked out a little persuasive speech for the occasion, and he'd dressed in the outfit he'd been wearing when he'd first met Arthur at the movie theatre – at least, as much of it as he could remember. Ten minutes alone with the British man would lead to success. Alfred got off the metro and walked boldly towards the art gallery, dodging other pedestrians on the street.

He peeked in the door before entering. Aw. Arthur in a business suit. He smiled affectionately at his old boyfriend. How cute. Alfred pushed open the door and strode in, sticking out a hand. "Arthur!"

The Brit turned idly to face him. "I thought you'd show up," he said coolly, ignoring Alfred's outstretched hand. "Gilbert told me you'd been sniffing around."

What? This was a very cold reception. Alfred started to launch into his prepared speech. "I'm so glad to see you, Arthur," he began, stepping closer and holding his arms out for a hug. But Arthur stepped away, still with that slight sneer on his face.

"Not interested, tosser," he said, turning away and pretending to examine a painting.

The entire speech flew right out of Alfred's head. "But Arthur! I missed you, and I hurried to find you!" His voice sounded a bit whiny, so he cleared his throat and went on in a deeper tone. "I know you must have missed me."

Arthur turned around slowly. "You what? You actually think I'm still interested in you? It's been over a year since you left me, you bloody selfish git. I wish it had been longer. Go away."

But Alfred stepped closer, lowering his voice even more, murmuring in that way he knew Arthur liked so much. "You didn't miss me at all?" He reached out a hand and placed it on Arthur's shoulder.

The Brit seemed impervious to his pleading. "Not a bit." He stepped back so that Alfred's hand fell to his side.

Damn it. Alfred was _not_ going home empty-handed today. He walked right up to Arthur and put his arms around him, grinning. "Come on, Artie, you know you want me."

"Get off me, wanker!" Arthur began to struggle. "Let go!" But Alfred held firm.

Suddenly another man burst into the gallery from the back. "What the fuck is going on here?" he yelled in a thick Italian accent.

Uh-oh. Alfred let go and backed away. His legs hit a piece of furniture and he stopped, leaning against it and staring at the newcomer, who scowled at him.

Then the Italian turned to Arthur, who was panting a bit from his struggle with Alfred. "Are you all right?"

Arthur nodded and straightened his tie. "I'm sorry. I know this isn't the place for personal business."

The man moved up to Arthur and said something in a low tone that Alfred didn't catch, though he was trying very hard to hear it. Who was this guy?

"I don't want to talk to him!" Arthur yelled. "Told him that already." He glared at Alfred. "I'm over you, git. Get out before I hurt you."

Alfred started to laugh. Arthur couldn't hurt a fly! "You couldn't hurt me. Not after what we shared. All those delicious nights –"

"If Arthur doesn't hurt you, I will," the Italian man said, clenching his fists. "Get out of here."

"Yeah, right. Let me and Arthur work this out." Alfred stood up to threaten the brunet and felt Arthur yank on his arm. The momentum spun him; Arthur punched him in the face! Alfred was too surprised to fight back as he stumbled against the desk again. He jumped right back up and grabbed the Brit by the arm. "Artie –"

The angry Italian grabbed a sculpture and snarled. "Get the fuck out of here before I call the cops." He waved the sculpture at Alfred. Right. Like this guy would bean him with a piece of expensive art. He ignored him and turned to Arthur again.

"Listen, Artie, can't we just talk about this?"

"I don't understand what you want to talk about! I'm not interested in you any longer. You think I'm so desperate I'd just fall into your arms? After you ran off and left me?"

Alfred really, really wished they didn't have an audience. He knew he could convince Arthur if they were alone. But right now – "You're serious! You don't want me?"

"I'm serious. You must be delusional to think I'd consider it. Get out."

"That really sucks!" At this point he decided to retreat and work out a different plan for later. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the Italian put the sculpture down. Haha, he'd known the little guy didn't have the balls to do it.

Arthur scowled. "Perhaps. But you're disrupting my place of employment. Please remove yourself, Alfred, and don't trouble me again."

The American headed towards the door with a parting shot. "I'll go. You're so fucking stuffy, Artie, that's your problem. You're never going to get laid again with an attitude like that! And you'll probably lose your job, too! Ha ha!" Alfred beat a hasty retreat out the door before anybody could start punching or throwing sculptures around.

When he was out of sight of the gallery, he broke into a trot, running to the metro station, cursing that stupid Italian guy. He knew if that guy hadn't shown up, he could have won Arthur back. He _knew_ it.

Well, he'd try again next week, after all this had a chance to fade from Artie's memory. It'd work.

…

_Next: Feli and Ludwig have a mini-vacation._


	35. A Mini Vacation

**A Mini Vacation.**

"Ve, Ludwig, I'm so glad we could get away for a couple of days. Even though we could only come to Florence. I'm sorry I didn't have more vacation time, but I'm saving up for our trip to see Lovi and Arthur."

"Don't get your hopes up," Ludwig cautioned. "You haven't even asked Lovino if I may join you. It's quite likely he'll say no."

"Oh, he'll say yes. Don't worry; he has been a lot more mellow since he started seeing Arthur. I can convince him. Come along, let's go inside the Duomo. It's very beautiful."

"You know I'm not Catholic," Ludwig reminded him, and Feliciano's tinkling laughter rang through the narrow city street.

"I just want to show you the beautiful architecture. I'm not trying to convert you, ve." He looked thoughtful. "Though I think I would like to go to Mass here this weekend. I'm sure it's lovely."

"You know I am happy to support you in everything, Feliciano, but – I don't want to go to Mass." Ludwig, red-faced, didn't quite meet his friend's eyes.

"Don't worry, Ludi. I can go to Mass by myself. Maybe you could wait for me at that little café? That lady was so nice to us, giving us extra macaroons."

"They were indeed delicious," Ludwig agreed as they entered the Duomo. He lowered his voice. "Then if you find out when your Mass is, I will make plans to wait for you at the Café Spagnolo."

"Shh, yes, ve. Come. Let's look at this magnificent cathedral."

…

Sunday morning Feliciano dutifully tripped off to Mass at the Duomo while Ludwig sought out the café. It was rather deserted at this hour; perhaps everyone was at church? Ludwig, raised Lutheran, hadn't been religious for quite some time, and preferred to sleep late on Sundays rather than attend a religious service. He was a little grumpy today, having gotten up earlier than usual to walk Feli to the cathedral. Ludwig ordered a coffee and two macaroons from the same woman who had served him and Feli before, moving to a corner table to read the newspaper.

A few moments later a man brought him his things. "Here you go, _signore_," he offered in a thick Spanish accent. Ludwig glanced up from the paper to see a dark-haired man with green eyes and a cheerful smile standing beside him. "Is there anything else I can get you?"

"No, thank you," the blond replied, returning his attention to the newspaper.

An hour and three cups of coffee later, Ludwig was beginning to feel more alert. He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to see Feliciano smiling at him. "Ve. You were so intent on your newspaper!"

"I admit, I didn't feel too intent," he admitted. "I am still waiting for the caffeine to kick in."

The Spanish barista scurried over to their table as Feli sat. "_Buongiorno_," he breathed to the younger man. "Is there anything I can get you?" He then leaned forward and placed a hand on Feliciano's shoulder with a grin.

Feli pulled away subtly. "Ludwig? Do you want to stay here, or go?"

Ludwig loved Feliciano. He thought his boyfriend was one of the most attractive men he'd ever met. And he most emphatically did not like the way the Spaniard was leering at him! "We're going," he said, standing up straight. He towered over the barista, who stepped hastily back.

"All right, ve, well, thank you," Feli told the Spaniard. "Come on, Ludi, maybe we can go for a boat ride." He didn't appear to have noticed anything, but the look in the Spanish man's eyes left Ludwig no doubt. He took Feli's hand and walked out the door.

…

As they took a scenic boat ride down the Arno, he explained to his friend why they'd departed the café so abruptly. "I know you're very attractive," he stated baldly, and Feli smiled, "but he was positively leering. I do not understand how a man – or even a woman – can be so blatant, especially when you were clearly there with me, not alone and looking for companionship."

"Perhaps I'm simply irresistible, ve," Feli laughed, taking his friend's hand. "Don't worry, Ludwig. I'm not interested in anyone but you."

The blond squeezed his hand. "I'm very glad of it. But I didn't mean to imply that you would have taken an interest in that man. I'm just baffled by his motives."

"Ve, who cares? It's a great day, we have each other, and we're happy. Right?"

"Right," Ludwig agreed, blushing a little, and kissing Feli's cheek.

…

_Next: An unexpected invitation._


	36. An Unexpected Invitation

**An Unexpected Invitation.**

"Gilbert," Feliks murmured with a smile, stroking his hands over the albino's bared chest.

"Mm, yes, sweetie?"

The two of them were in Gilbert's big antique bed – he loved imposing furniture and had filled his condo with it – cuddling after a long bout of lovemaking. He absolutely adored peeling back the layers of demure Felicia to expose the wild Feliks underneath. Gilbert ran his hands through his lover's longish hair as Feliks bent to kiss his pale chest.

"I am going away for like a week, next month. I wondered whether you have vacation; I'd totally love for to go with me."

At the moment Gilbert was inclined to agree happily, but then the voice of reason spoke up. "Where are you going? Is it a vacation?"

"Sort of. It's a, like, convention. For people like me."

"Dancers?"

"Cross-dressing dancers." Feliks poked a pointy red nail into Gilbert's navel, and then trailed it around his chest. "We, like, get together and discuss, you know, new things to help us with our looks – new wigs, or shoes, whatever; there are a lot of vendor booths, and we totally have competitions, too."

Gilbert was a bit taken aback, but he didn't want to be rude. Feliks was one thing, a whole convention full of transvestites was something quite different. Hmm. "Where's the awesome convention?"

"New York."

"Huh. I love New York. Is it a constant thing, or would we have time to spend in the city?" A whole week of drag queens sounded really weird, but he didn't want to upset Feliks. He'd need to think about this.

"Oh, we can totally take time to do New York stuff! There are, like, lectures and things, but sometimes I just don't feel like going." Feliks leaned forward and kissed him; Gilbert responded eagerly.

"Mm," he said, when they came up for air. "Let me check my calendar, all right?" That was always a good excuse. If he felt it was too weird, he could invent some fake important meetings and stay here.

"Fine with me, my big albino stud." Feliks simpered and Gilbert kissed him again. "Come here and, like, make me feel good."

"Kesesese! I totally will."

…

_Next: Meeting a maple lover._


	37. She Likes Maple!

**She Likes Maple!**

Alfred had finally moved out. This was the first thought that settled in Matthew's brain each morning, and the last thought–except for a prayer of thankfulness–to exit his brain each night. He lay in bed this morning, listening to the birds outside, and smiled. It was so nice to finally have his home to himself again.

And it was the weekend, too! He didn't have to go to the office, and in fact had nothing work-related at all to think about. He stretched, deciding to go for a walk and then ride the metro downtown. He'd walk around the monuments for a while. That was always interesting.

…

The spring day was beautiful. It mirrored the optimism in the businessman's mind. He decided to stop off for a coffee on his walk.

Outside, several dogs on leashes were tied to a table leg. Matthew ducked around them - so many dogs at once made him a little nervous - and entered the shop. It wasn't crowded, being about halfway between typical breakfast and lunch rush hours. Two people were in line, a man and a woman. He got in line and idly looked at the sticky pastries, which Alfred loved so much. Matthew didn't really care for them.

"Iced maple latte," the young woman in front of him ordered.

Matthew smiled and glanced at her. He always found it fun to secretly discover other maple lovers, and sometimes he made up little stories in his head about what their lives were like, and how the maple affected them.

Oh! That's why all those dogs were outside. It was that lady dog-walker he'd bumped into that day last winter. His heart seemed to be beating a little faster. Matthew cleared his throat subtly to get her attention, not even sure what he'd say to her. "I love maple too" sounded dorky. But she didn't react to his throat-clearing. She moved on to the waiting area and he ordered something different for a change.

"Iced maple latte," he told the barista.

"Not the maple Frappuccino?" that woman asked. "A change of pace for you, then, but I see you're still going for the maple."

Matthew's ears were burning at this commentary, and he didn't know what to say, so he just kept his head down and nodded. The barista scanned his card and Matthew moved down to the waiting area.

"Oh!" he heard. It was the woman's voice, he knew.

He was about to nerve himself up to look at her when the barista called out "Iced maple latte?"

Completely forgetting that this was what she'd ordered, too, Matthew reached for it at the same time she did, and their hands met on the cold plastic.

"I believe this is mine," she said, in a rather wobbly tone of voice. Matthew darted a look at her as he let go. Was she...was she _crying_? Well, if she wasn't, she was about to start, any minute now. He wondered what had upset her. She grabbed the drink and pushed past him towards the exit.

"Oh," a dejected Matthew said to himself. He was always at such a loss around women. Should he go after her? She was so pretty, and she'd seemed so friendly that time they'd talked before…he'd spent a few hours daydreaming about meeting her again, and now that he had, it was all so terrifying. The barista handed him his drink and he took it outside, wondering about what had distressed her, wondering whether he'd ever see her again.

But she was still outside, busy untangling the leashes of the dogs as they barked and swarmed around her legs. Maybe he could help? That would be fairly innocuous. "Do you need help, miss?" he asked quietly.

"Not from you!" she burst out, and then she did start crying.

Matthew, who was startled by her response, became quite troubled at this. "Please, please don't cry," he said, setting his drink on the table next to hers. "I'll help." With deft fingers he untied the knot of leashes; he was dimly aware of the woman beside him, sniffling and wiping her eyes.

By the time the leashes were untangled he'd replayed the entire morning scene in his mind, and the only thing confusing him now was why she'd declined his offer of help so violently. "Not from you," she'd said, as if she had something against him personally. Well. He was determined to find out what the problem might be.

He handed each leash to her individually, trying to catch her eye, but she would not look at him. When he handed her the last one, he picked up his drink again, distinguishable from hers because hers had a ring of lipstick on the straw, but did not move off. "Are you all right?" he asked quietly. "Have I offended you in some way?"

The woman (really, she was probably about his own age, or just a little older) finally met his gaze. "I'm so sorry," she whispered. "This is not the proper way to behave in public. I'll just - just go now." She held the leashes in one hand and picked up her drink with the other. "I'm so sorry." She sounded like she was going to cry again.

But Matthew, to his own amazement, put a hand on her arm and stopped her. "Please. Don't cry. Is there is there anything I can do?"

She sniffed. Angrily. "You weren't so concerned when you slammed into me a few weeks ago!" Defiantly, she slurped some coffee.

"I slammed into you?" He thought about this. "I don't remember that at all. I've been watching for you ever since we met in the wintertime," he blurted without thinking, and then turned red. Matthew dropped his eyes to his shoes. Another smooth comment. Would he ever learn?

"You have?" This time her voice was softer and full of wonder.

He nodded; he'd already put his foot in his mouth, might as well keep going. "But I always look for the dogs. I might have have bumped into you without realizing it, if you didn't have them with you?"

"No," she countered, moving the dogs out of the way of the shop entrance. "I had the dogs. I even called out to you…tried to stop you, because" (and here her voice dropped to a wobbly whisper) "I wanted to talk to you again, too. But you didn't stop."

"Damn Alfred," Matthew breathed; he'd just realized what must have happened. Just like that jackass to go slamming into nice young women without apologizing. His brain frantically spun as he tried to figure out how to explain this without it sounding like a fake, lame excuse.

"What? Who's Alfred?"

But she hadn't left yet. They were still together, still talking, despite his social ineptitude. Matthew made a gallant attempt at rescuing the situation. "May I walk with you? I'll try to explain," he asked, indicating the dogs, which were by now all straining to get away. "My name is Matthew." He held out a hand, but hers were full.

She set the drink on the little bistro table and shook his hand with a hesitant smile. "I'm Katia. Please do walk with me. I'd like to understand." Katia wiped her eyes one last time before picking up her drink. The two of them walked down the street together, exuberant dogs straining at leashes, as Matthew sought for an articulate way to explain about stupid Alfred.

Maybe he'd skip the monuments today.

…

_I went with the spelling of Katia because I don't really want her to be yet another foreigner in Washington. So, like Gilbert, in this story she's American, and she's not related to Ivan._

_Next: Francis gets bolder._


	38. Francis Molests Another Client

**Francis Molests Another Client.**

"_Monsieur." _The blond couturier extended his hand to his latest client, an older German man with long blond hair tied back. "Please come into the changing room so that I may take your measurements." He was practically salivating. He loved big, stern men, and this one was perfect. _Perfect. _He didn't even need to see him _d__é__shabill__é _to know he'd have the chiseled body of a fighter.

The client – not a chatty type – nodded and followed Francis into the changing room; an assistant wheeled in the rack of clothing he had chosen.

Francis directed the man behind the screen to change and waved the assistant out of the room. First things first. He did need to get the measurements.

He'd been very careful about playing with the clients. After that first groundbreaking encounter last fall, he'd dabbled with a few younger men, who all seemed eager to have Francis pleasure them with his agile mouth and fingers. But none had ever been willing to reciprocate. Ah, he didn't really mind. It wasn't as though he were lacking for lovers outside the boutique. By this point it was more of a game, guessing who would play and who would not, and then convincing those men to dally with him in the changing room awhile.

But this man – Francis wanted so desperately to give and take pleasure from him. Maybe something a little rough? Allow the client to do what he wished? Mm, there were so few men who appreciated the pure pleasure that occasional submission could bring. His eyes sparkled as the man stepped from behind the screen in a dashing brown suit that brought out the blue of his eyes.

…

"What?" the man asked in consternation.

Oops. Francis, finished with the measurements, had just put his hand somewhere that the client apparently didn't appreciate. He took his hand away. "Forgive me, _monsieur._" He did make one more attempt, though, this one verbal. "Is _monsieur_ interested in – in anything further?" He licked his lips.

The fierce blue eyes peered down at him. "You are a bold young man."

Francis beamed and nodded an acknowledgement. _S'il vous plait, dire __«__oui__»! _he begged silently.

Without another word the man reached down and pulled Francis into a standing position. "The door is locked?" he asked quietly.

The couturier nodded, still beaming.

"We will not speak of this after today. And should I return, we will not pursue it further."

Francis nodded again, swaying slightly to lean against the taller, stronger man. "_Je comprends._"

"Show me," the harsh German voice concluded. Francis, liberated, did.

…

_"S'il vous plait, dire «oui»" means "please say 'yes,'" and "je comprends" means "I understand."_

_Yes, this is supposed to be Germania, just because I'm running out of characters I'm comfortable with. Grandpa Rome was the first guy he tried it with, back in chapter 24. Not sure whether that was clear or not. But they are just filler characters here._

_Next: a shy first date._


	39. First Date

**First Date.**

Matthew was pretty nervous as he drove to Katia's townhouse. He was taking her on a date tonight. He hadn't been on a real date in a long time, because he was so shy around women (and rarely met any, other than the wives of fellow businessmen, or Starbucks baristas). But he and Katia had wandered around Arlington for several hours last weekend, walking the dogs, and he hadn't felt too self-conscious at all! She seemed to be a sweet girl, if a bit nervous herself. He was glad she'd agreed. Matthew knew he needed to socialize a bit more, but hanging out with Alfred at his favorite nightclub was not on his top ten list. He snorted.

Better stop thinking about Alfred.

He parked the car outside the address she'd given him and got out, heading toward the front door. Before he got there, Katia scurried out, wearing a dark trench coat and her favorite beret that he knew so well by now, as well as a pair of high dark blue heels. Her smile was bright as she greeted him.

"Hi. You're ready to go?" Then he felt like an idiot. She must be ready to go, or she wouldn't be outside.

But she didn't seem to realize his gaffe. "This is your car? It's so cute!" She beamed at it.

Matthew drove a red Miata. Al called it girly, but he didn't care; it was cute and fun to drive, and on a clear night like tonight, driving with the top down was exhilarating. He helped her into the passenger seat and crossed to the driver's side.

"I hope you don't lose your hat," he tried to joke, driving away.

"If it gets too windy I'll just take it off and put it in my handbag." She closed her eyes and smiled into the rush of cool night air.

Their date would start out with dinner at the Kennedy Center's rooftop restaurant, followed by a performance of classical music downstairs. Matthew wasn't particularly fond of classical music, but it would be less stressful for him to sit through than a ballet or opera. Katia had agreed eagerly. Perhaps she liked classical music. He planned to find out more about her likes and dislikes, over dinner.

At the restaurant, Matthew first removed his own lightweight coat and hung it up before reaching to take Katia's. He hung her coat up and turned back and he almost fell over.

She was a _bombshell!_ He just now realized that he'd never seen her without a coat, but oh, my God, she was beautiful. She was curvy in all the right places, and wore a body-skimming deep blue dress with little tiny sparkles in it. Katia shimmered like the beauty of the nighttime sky.

Wow. Matthew blinked. Poetry like that didn't just flow into his head.

Except that it just had.

New optimism filled him. He was here at a very nice restaurant, with a beautiful woman accompanying him – right now he would have placed a bet that no man in the room felt better than he did, tonight.

And then he realized he was staring at her like a dope. At least he was staring at her soft blue eyes, and not her – not her –

"You are so beautiful," he breathed, before catching himself.

Katia's lipsticked mouth parted in a wobbly smile. "Thank you," she said demurely, her eyes turning to the ground. She blushed. So did Matthew.

Before he could recover from this, the hostess escorted them to their table. Matthew gallantly held Katia's chair for her, and then sat opposite, feasting his eyes on her and smiling. He was really excited about this. He'd do his best to be a charming date. He would make it through this date successfully, and go on more dates with the striking Katia. He _would._

"You haven't told me much about your family," he began, hoping this was a good neutral topic. "Except that you live with your sister."

"Ah, yes, well, she – she was married before, and her husband died. She moved in with me after that."

"I'm sorry to hear it," he said, meaning the death, but Katia laughed merrily.

"I'm sorry too! She can be very demanding at times. She's used to a much more luxurious lifestyle than mine." Katia then fiddled with her menu. "I – I don't know much about your family, either," she pointed out.

"Hah. My parents live in Canada now." He decided not to mention Al, for the moment. He didn't want to waste his date talking about his dumb brother! "But I grew up in the area."

"So did I," she beamed, as if this were some rare occurrence, two locals meeting up.

But Matthew was so nervous and excited that this didn't register with him. The waitress came; they placed their orders.

Now he didn't know what to talk about. He didn't like talking about his work, because he didn't want people to think he was flaunting his wealth. "How are the dogs?" Oh, how stupid, how _stupid…_

But – "They're all fine. Do you remember Boris? The big black Newfoundland?" When Matthew nodded, she went on. "His owner has taken a new job as a real estate agent, and so he won't be needing my services any longer."

"Will that be a problem for you? I mean, for the loss of income?"

"No. I do have a waiting list. And it will be nice for Boris to be with his owner more often."

"Walking dogs all the time must be great exercise. I go out for walks from the office once in a while, but I don't go to a gym or anything." Here he blushed; maybe he was too wimpy for her? He pushed his glasses up his nose and gave her a brave smile.

"But you don't need to," she said, and he felt his blush deepen. Katia reached for her water glass and accidentally knocked it over. "Oh! Oh, I'm so sorry, s-so sorry," she stammered nervously, frantically trying to mop up the water.

Matthew grabbed his own napkin to help. Together he and Katia managed to blot up most of the water before it could drip onto either of their laps; he took the wet napkins and set them aside, flagging down a waiter for assistance.

When the waiter had taken the napkins away and dealt with the remaining water, Matthew finally spared a glance at his date. Katia had her hands folded on the table, her eyes on her fingers, and her ripe lips were trembling. Matthew didn't know what to say, and then he saw a tear fall onto her lap. "Oh – Katia, please don't cry," he said weakly, reaching out to pat her still-damp hand. "It's all right. You're – you didn't get wet, did you?"

She shook her head. "I'm sorry. I've always been so graceless. I don't – don't want to embarrass you." This last was spoken in a near whisper. She didn't look up.

"Don't worry about that at all," he told her decisively. "Accidents happen to everyone. It's not a problem. Really, it's not." When she still didn't look up, he tried to think about this a little more. "Unless you – unless you're uncomfortable here?" His heart sank. Maybe this was her way of getting out of a date she considered boring. Well, he could be a gentleman; he could give her a way out, if she wanted it. "If you're – bored, or not interested, Katia, I can take you home?" Matthew almost felt tears in his own eyes at that, but forced them down. He should have known he couldn't hold the attention of such a beautiful girl.

"Oh, _no. _I don't want to quit the date!" She finally raised her eyes to his, dashing the tears away quickly with the back of her hand. "I – I would like to get to know you better, Matthew," she whispered; he could see she was trying to smile, and this melted his heart.

"Then let's forget about the spill, and enjoy our evening together. Yes?" He reached out daringly and took her hand, and she squeezed it.

"Yes," she smiled. "Thank you so much."

…

_In case you're wondering where this falls in "Love and Art," it's roughly during the time period when Feliciano and Ludwig are visiting Washington (chapters 50-51). I have a gigantic spreadsheet to help me keep track of everything._

_Yes. Boris belongs to Toris. _

_Next: Gilbert is flabbergasted._


	40. Gilbert is Flabbergasted

**Gilbert is Flabbergasted.**

Gilbert checked his watch. Yeah, he could offer Artie a ride home and still get to Starbucks in time to pick up Feliks. They had to go shopping for the bizarre convention; Feliks wanted to upgrade his makeup kit, since he'd be using it in front of other girls. (He snorted. "Girls.")

The albino was happy that he'd said yes to Feliks' invitation, though. It did seem like it would be interesting to attend, and he was so happy with Feliks. He wanted to support his transvestite boyfriend as much as he could. He coughed. "Want a ride home? I've got time." He shut down his PC and locked his desk.

Arthur shrugged. "Sure, thanks. When you get back, make sure you tell me all about this trip. I don't think I could handle going to something like that myself, but it sounds – wild."

"I know. I want to take a camera but Feliks won't let me." They shared a laugh over that and left the bank.

"Maybe you should get some – some stuff, you know, cross-dressing stuff," Arthur then laughed. "You might make a very pretty girl. Er – what does Feliks use to, to – hide, you know?" Gilbert looked at his red-faced friend and laughed. "Does he strip enough that you can see that?"

"Totally," Gilbert said. "Down to his panties and bra. He has some kind of padded thing, it – uh – tucks away in there." Now he was red-faced too. "But you know I could never conceal the awesome five meters." He drove off into the not-yet-critical traffic, grinning.

Arthur snorted. "Keep deluding yourself, git."

"Paint anything lately?

"Hell, yes. I'm always painting. I have to sometimes paint late at night, because of the job, but it works out all right." Arthur looked out the window. "I've been working on a new painting of a – a fallen angel. It's coming out really nicely."

"Let me guess! You used that awesome sketch of me for the model! Kesesese!"

"No, sorry. I, er, well, it's a standing pose. I'm – really happy with it." He took a deep breath. "I was working on the sketches that night you called me about the convention."

"Oh, that's what was distracting you. Can I see it when you're done?"

Arthur shrugged. "I don't mind." Then he seemed to consider something. "Maybe not. I'm not sure yet. Let me think about it."

"Whatever, Artie, it's fine with me." He pulled into Arthur's parking lot. "How's your love life these days? Anything exciting going on?"

Arthur smirked at him, unbuckled his seat belt, and got out of the car, leaning back in with his elbows on the windowsill. "Yeah. I'm dating Lovino Vargas." He blew the startled Gilbert a kiss – had he actually heard right? Artie was finally dating him? Awesome!

"Hey, what? Wait, tell me about it!"

But Arthur had begun to walk into his apartment building and simply waved without turning around.

"Damn it, Arthur! Come on, you can't just drop a bomb like that and walk off! Not awesome at all! Come on, tell me!" Gilbert stood up as much as he could and angled himself out the driver's side window. "Arthur, _seriously_! Come on!" Damn it, he knew Arthur was laughing at him. He punched the roof of his car.

The blond, having reached the building's entrance, continued to ignore him and wave.

"Fine! I'll call you when we get back from New York, and you'd better be prepared to spill!" Gilbert punched the roof again and slid back inside, fuming. How dare he!

And then Gilbert thought about this, and about his good friend Arthur dating Lovino Vargas, and began laughing and laughing, as he drove away. He must have been joking. That surly bastard? Man, even Arthur, who was pretty laid-back, couldn't put up with that shit. Not in a _boyfriend. _ No wonder he hadn't turned back. Probably couldn't keep a straight face! Gilbert laughed some more and headed to Starbucks to pick up Feliks for their shopping trip.

…

_Ugh. This is concurrent with chapter 49 of "Love and Art," so I guess the Matthew-Katia date actually took place while Lovino and Arthur were in Rome, packing up goods for the house sale. Sorry. I have a big knitted Gilbird on my desk; he must have been messing with my spreadsheet when I wasn't looking. _

_Next: Matthew invests in his future._


	41. Matthew Invests in His Future

**Matthew Invests in his Future.**

Matthew straightened his tie and walked out into his reception area. His secretary was quite busy today. She'd already removed her old nail polish and begun applying a fresh coat in a different color. He cleared his throat and she jumped, smearing nail polish all over her finger. "Oh!" she said.

But he couldn't focus on that, right now. "Sorry. I'm off to my meeting with Mr. Vargas," he told her; "I won't be back today."

"Yes, sir," she said, sighing, reaching for the nail polish remover. Matthew left the building.

He was on his way to the offices of Lovino Vargas, a man he'd heard of but had never actually met before. Vargas was selling a small art gallery. Matthew had never been very interested in art, but the gallery was a good moneymaker (according to Vargas' marketing), in a nice building that also happened to be for sale, and with an eye towards his future Matthew had decided, on a whim, to consider its purchase.

Katia liked art.

As he drove his little red car to Vargas' office, he let himself daydream about Katia. They'd been dating for nearly three months now, and he felt so close to her. She was so sweet and shy – Matthew had never really expected, with his retiring nature, to find a woman he could be comfortable with, but he'd never met one like Katia before. All the women he had tried to date, before her, were sharks, like her sister Natalia.

He shuddered as he parked the car, thinking of that blonde panther and her predatory ways. She'd even tried flirting with him, the first day Katia had invited him to their townhouse. Both he and Katia had been so uncomfortable that a shared, understanding glance had driven them out of the house and down the street to the coffee shop. Laughing weakly in relief, they'd gotten their maple-flavored drinks and relaxed together, shyly holding hands outside in the summer sun.

But enough of Katia and her scary sister. He needed to focus on the meeting with Vargas. They would discuss the terms of sale today. If he was interested, Vargas would take him to the gallery after hours one night this week to show him the space and artworks. Normally Matthew would have gone down there to take a look prior to the meeting, but he'd been busy with Katia lately.

He still hadn't told her what he did for a living, and she hadn't asked. A little compartment of his mind was still frightened to let other people realize how wealthy he was. Oh, he wasn't in the same league with Vargas, who no doubt treated this gallery like a personal playground, but he had enough money that it worried him, worried him that people would latch onto him for the cash, if they knew. Certainly Natalia would! He shivered again.

Right. Enough of all this shilly-shallying. Matthew opened the door to Vargas' office building and straightened his tie as he spoke to the building's receptionist, who directed him upstairs.

…

After they'd spoken for a while, discussing profit and loss, Vargas leaned back in his chair. "Why do you want to buy my gallery?" The man had seemed slightly puzzled when they had introduced themselves, but Matthew had been too nervous to bother about that. This was _Lovino Vargas_! He'd heard stories. The man was allegedly quite cold, quite business-savvy.

"I haven't actually decided whether I want to buy it or not," Matthew now countered. "The numbers are sound. It's simply a different kind of venture, something that seems interesting to me."

To his surprise the redoubtable Vargas broke into a real smile at that admission. "That's just what it was for me, when I bought it," he confessed. "Something unusual to dally in. If you are interested, I'm happy to take you there after hours, but I don't want to be going through the place when it's open to the public. I don't want to cause a panic amongst the current clientele."

"Understood. Do your employees know that you're thinking of selling? Will they want to continue employment after the transition?"

Vargas cleared his throat. "I have only two employees there, my manager and a man who comes in and helps with the physical labor, Mr. Simonson. He doesn't yet know I'm considering selling. My, uh, my manager, Mr. Kirkland, does know."

"Will he be interested in staying on? Are you satisfied with him?"

The brunet blushed, looking at his paperwork. "Mr. Kirkland is a very attentive manager and I was very lucky to get him." He cleared his throat again and as he raised his gaze, his expression became a little more neutral. "I don't know whether he'd be interested in staying; that's something you can discuss with him afterwards, I suppose. Of course if you do purchase it, I'll let him know all the particulars right away, so he's not taken by surprise."

"That will suffice. Let me take home the paperwork and read over it, pass it along to my lawyer for perusal, and I'll get back to you by Wednesday. Perhaps Wednesday night we could go through the space together, if you have no plans already?"

"Wednesday won't be a problem," Vargas agreed. He stood up and handed Matthew the paperwork; the blond stood up also. "Thanks for coming down to my office to meet with me. Saves me a bit of trouble."

"Not a problem," Matthew breathed, happy that he'd gotten through this meeting with his nerves intact. They shook hands. "I'll be in touch by Wednesday."

"You know where to reach me. Thanks again," Vargas said, walking him to the door. "Talk to you soon."

Matthew hurried to his car and put the paperwork on the passenger seat, taking a moment to think about this. Wouldn't it be nice to move his office into an art gallery? It sounded so luxurious, compared to the space he rented now, a space much like Vargas', consisting of two bland rooms (Vargas apparently only had one) in a large building. It would be like working in a museum. Maybe he'd even bring Katia there to show her? Maybe he'd bring her there when he was ready to spill the beans about his businesses.

As he maneuvered the little car into traffic, he realized he was already thinking of the gallery as his own. Well, unless his lawyer found some glaring problem with the paperwork, soon it would be. He smiled softly and headed for home.

…

_This is really becoming a very Matthew-centric story, isn't it? It was supposed to be all about Gilbert and Al! Whoops. Well, I'll try to remember to factor them in some more._

_Up next: Francis treads on thin ice._


	42. Francis Treads on Thin Ice

**Francis Treads on Thin Ice.**

A Chinese client was due at the boutique this morning; M. Sébastien was completing a fitting with a government official (who Francis strongly suspected was his employer's lover), so he'd left the blond in charge. Assistants scurried back and forth throughout the large store, preparing racks of garments for the new arrival's perusal; the other two couturiers were busy with their own clients already.

The store darkened slightly as someone stepped inside. "_Monsieur_ Wang?" Francis inquired, coming to greet the guest.

"Yes, I am Wang Yao-aru." He extended a hand to Francis, shaking his long embroidered sleeves back.

Francis shook his hand. "_Je m'appelle_ Francis. I'll be taking care of you this morning." Oh, he hoped he'd be able to take _quite good care_ of Wang Yao, quite good care indeed. Those silk Chinese robes – _ah – _

"Very good. For this trip I am only interested in business suits, not casual wear-aru."

Francis led him towards the racks that had been prepared. "_Oui_, M. Sébastien did inform me of that. I must say I was surprised, because Chinese fashions are so exotic. You must draw the eye quite vividly, when you are in the West."

"It is true, I am very noticeable in my own clothing. However, when I must travel to the West, I usually do not wish to stand out. I am here to conduct business, not to distract my colleagues-aru." He frowned subtly.

This client was rather abrupt. Francis would have to tread carefully. "I understand. Do you have any preference of color or fabric?"

M. Wang detailed the types of climate and occasions for which he'd need suits. Francis directed the assistants to pull some shirts and ties, and began picking out suits to show M. Wang, to earn his approval.

…

Two hours later Francis was exhausted, and they hadn't even begun the true fittings yet. M. Wang had been very capricious with the clothing, choosing and discarding and then returning to garments he'd already deemed unsuitable. It was like shopping with a country housewife who'd suddenly been given _carte blanche_ in a big city! The blond excused himself and gulped a quick glass of Perrier in the back room to refresh himself. He had an assistant take a bottle and glass on a tray out to M. Wang as well.

In a few moments he found the strength to return to the sales floor. M. Wang was finishing his water too. "Are we finished here?" Francis asked. "Are you prepared for the fitting, or do you wish to continue choosing clothing?" He uttered a fervent, silent prayer that they were done out here.

Ah, the gods were with him today. M. Wang looked around the room and decided to be done for now.

"_Bon._ Please step into the back room." Francis smiled a tiny smile. Now for the fun stuff.

…

"But _Monsieur_," Francis pleaded in his best seductive voice. "You are so elegant, yet manly…so desirable…"

M. Wang glared down at the blond as he knelt on the floor. "I did not come here to be propositioned-aru."

Francis smiled lazily. "That doesn't mean you shouldn't enjoy it when it's offered." Though he was panicking inside a little. It looked like he'd overstepped his bounds, trying to play with the exotic Wang Yao. What if the client told M. Sébastien?

"What makes you think I'm even partial to men-aru?" Wang demanded.

"_Bien_, most men would agree with you. But you don't even have to do anything," he suggested. "Just sit and relax, and let me make you feel good with my hands and mouth." His grin grew as he reached up to fondle M. Wang. "Close your eyes and pretend I'm a beautiful woman."

The Chinese man drew a harsh breath. "Very well-aru. But it had better be good."

"It's always good, _Monsieur_," Francis breathed, relieved, as he directed the foreign client to a chair. "For you, it will be even better."

…

M. Wang adjusted his flowing silk garments and turned to Francis before the two of them left the dressing room. "I have not yet decided whether to inform M. Sébastien of our little – interlude – or not. Perhaps if the merchandise is delivered in a timely fashion and fits perfectly, so that I do not need further fittings, well, perhaps I will not need to mention it to him. Do you understand-aru?"

Francis shivered a little. He nodded. Maybe he'd better back off from this sort of thing. He didn't want to lose his wonderful job just because of a little bit of sex play.

"Very well. Please have someone telephone me when the items are ready. You have my hotel number-aru." M. Wang opened the dressing room door and walked out. "_Adieu_, Francis."

He was not smiling. Francis mustered up his best cheerful grin and led him to the shop's front door. "_Au revoir_, M. Wang."

When the door had closed behind him, Francis scurried to the back room and drank another bottle of water, very quickly. Yes, it had been fun to make the austere M. Wang lose control, but not if he'd been risking his job! Francis said another quick prayer to whichever god might be listening. Then he got back to work.

…

_It's a slippery slope, Francis._

_Next: Boys at Play._


	43. Boys at Play

_I'd written this chapter for "Love and Art" but decided not to use it in the main story. It will suffice for a Life Sketches chapter. This would have taken place the day after chapter 61._

…

**Boys at Play.**

"Wake up, you sleepy git, I have a brilliant idea for today." Arthur shook Lovino awake.

"Grr. What." Neither of them was ever at his best in the morning, but Arthur had had a dream of roller coasters and woken up on fire with the idea of going to Kings Dominion with Lovino. In August, it might be pretty busy, but what the hell.

"Wake up! Let's go to the amusement park."

"_What?_" Lovino, now fully awake, rolled over and looked at his friend. "Why?"

"I don't know! It's a nice day, we have nothing to do, let's just go! I love amusement parks." He lay down and hugged his friend.

"You're kidding."

"Why would I be kidding? Er – don't you like them? I didn't think of that."

Lovino lay back and let out a deep breath. "I don't know. Never been to one."

"What, _never_?" How could he have been so deprived? "Come on, then, we have to go. You don't know what you're missing. They really are fun."

"Nh. Where is this place?"

"South. About two hours."

"Two _hours_? Dammit."

"You really don't want to go?" Arthur put on a bit of a pout. He knew this wasn't fair, but he did want to go, and now he also wanted to show his friend how much fun it was there.

"Don't pout at me."

Arthur laughed. "Well, all right, but…will you go or not?"

"Bastard. Once you start pouting at me, it's all over. Yes, I'll go, but you have to drive. _Not_ the Jaguar; don't even ask."

"That's fine with me! I love driving the Spitfire." Arthur determined to drop the whole Jaguar discussion forever. Lovino could offer whenever he was ready. It was a perfectly acceptable trade-off for going to Kings Dominion with him. He leaped out of the bed and hastened into the bathroom to get ready.

Lovino stayed in the bed.

"Er – hello? Are you getting up?" Toothbrush in mouth, Arthur stuck his head out of the bathroom to look at him.

"Yes. Don't rush me. Is there some reason you're rushing me?"

"No, no reason except I'm really excited. Get up." He went back in to rinse.

"Grr." But Lovino did get out of bed. "What should I wear?"

"Regular clothes! What did you think you needed to wear? Your tux?"

"Shut up! Get out of the way." Lovino pushed him aside and stormed into the bathroom.

Arthur got dressed and sat on the bed to wait for him. When he came back out, he gave Lovino a very big fake smile. A Gilbert smile. "Come on, it's going to be fun and you know it."

Lovino softened and poked him in the stomach. "Well…I'm prepared to admit it _might_ be fun. And I'm prepared to admit that it would be more fun with you than with anybody else. But that's all I'm prepared to admit at this point, so, let's get moving. I need to go home and change." He started dressing in his clothes from yesterday.

"I'll go make us some coffee," Arthur decided, bouncing out of the room. Kings Dominion! Maybe he could beat Lovino at skeeball, since he could never beat Gilbert.

…

"You've _never_ played skeeball before?" Arthur groaned. He decided he must be the world's worst skeeball player and resolved to never bother playing again.

"No, I told you. I've never even heard of it."

"Well, you wouldn't, probably. It's mostly only at American amusement parks. Will you go on the roller coaster with me?"

"Cheh, sure, come on. Looks like a long line."

…

"People eat this shit?" Lovino watched the lady spin cotton candy out of airy nothing. "It's making my teeth hurt just to think about it."

"I'm not fond of it myself, but yes, it's very popular."

"Well, let's get some ice cream or something real. I can't take the idea of this stuff anymore."

…

"Will you – will you ride on the Ferris wheel with me?" Arthur held his breath. He hoped Lovino wasn't scared of heights.

"Sure. Why are you looking so nervous?"

"Er."

"Say it, dammit." Lovino poked him.

"I want – want to kiss you when we're at the top of the ride," Arthur muttered in a very low voice.

Lovino burst out laughing. "Is that all? You were nervous about that? You're a very funny person; I know I've told you that before, but it's true. Yes. That's fine. I don't mind that kind of stuff, as long as nobody can see us. Let's go on the Ferris wheel and do that."

…

"That was nice," Arthur said, as they got off the Ferris wheel. "Kind of makes up for you thrashing me at skeeball."

"Poor kid. Come on, let's get some lunch."

…

While they ate some (expensive and not very tasty) lunch, Lovino brought up the real estate search again. "We really do need to get cracking on this. I banged into the stupid desk yesterday and I have a huge bruise on my shin."

"Maybe you need some dance lessons, or something to make you more graceful," Arthur joked. "But yes. I'll get online and start looking in earnest when we get back. Is there some reason you don't use an estate agent?"

"Don't trust them. How can you really tell? You pick somebody out of a list and they turn out to be a jerk, then you've got to start over with somebody else…it's a pain in the ass. I'd rather just delegate it all to you." Lovino smirked at his friend.

"Touché. I'll get on it, boss."

…

At the end of the day, as they left the park, tired, Arthur looked across at Lovino, who had let his head fall back against the passenger seat. "Are you all right? Did you have fun today?"

"Stupid bastard. Every day I spend with you is fun." Lovino sat up straighter and opened his eyes. "But yes. It was – was different, for me. I haven't had a lot of these…_playtime_ days? I liked it. Different to finally see a place, and most of it was pretty fun. Thanks for bringing me." He reached out and squeezed Arthur's hand briefly.

"You're welcome. I hope we can show each other lots of these fun and different things."

"We will. Next time it's my turn, though."

"Yes, sir."

"One of these days I'm really going to have to come up with some kind of punishment for your backchat," Lovino mused, rubbing his hand over his mouth and staring out the window at the darkening sky. "Hmm. Making you get up early every day."

"No, that's no good; you'd have to wake up first, and you know that will never happen."

"No coffee."

"I'll just drink tea."

"No painting time."

"Git."

"Sounds like we have a winner. I'll keep it in mind." He lifted Arthur's hand from the stickshift and kissed his fingers.

Without taking his eyes off the road, Arthur drew their joined hands to his mouth and kissed Lovino's fingers in return. "You're the best."

They drove for a few minutes in silence, still holding hands, and then Lovino said, "Well, all right, maybe I won't punish you."

Arthur just laughed, and then so did Lovino. The rest of the drive home was relatively quiet, as the two tired friends relaxed after their busy day.

…

_I had every intention of making this a full-scale amusement park chapter, but I did that in "Love in the Modern World" (six chapters) and just couldn't bear to do it all again._

_Next: Alfred asks a question (with surprising results)._


	44. Alfred Asks a Question

**Alfred Asks a Question.**

"Hey, Mattie!" The elder twin bounded into his brother's living room without warning, hoping to surprise him, but he was just relaxing with the TV at the moment.

"Can't you even knock?" Matthew scowled.

"Oh, get over it." Alfred plopped onto the sofa. "What's new with you, bro? I haven't talked to you in like two weeks!"

"I know." Matthew sounded happy about it.

Alfred laughed at him. "Come on. There must be something new." He poked Matthew's foot in its maple leaf sock.

"Stop poking."

"What's the matter with you? Come on, get up, let's go get some coffee or something. I'm so full of energy!" Alfred stood up and twirled around the room. He really was full of energy.

He was also kind of upset. Despite his best-laid plans he hadn't been able to find Arthur! He'd been planning to find him again, _without_ that damned Italian guy around, and sweet-talk him into a date. But he'd gone back to the gallery a few weeks ago – because he had no idea where Arthur was living now – and the gallery had been locked up tight, no sign of anyone inside. He scowled a little, considering his failure to find Arthur, and then realized his twin was staring at him.

"What's the matter with _you_?" Mattie countered.

"Just get up and put your shoes on." Alfred grabbed his arm and pulled him off the couch, shoving his Arthur-related concerns into the back of his mind for now. He could worry about that later.

"All right, all right," his brother muttered, storming over to the door. "Blast it, Al, why do you always get your own way?"

"Because I'm worth it," he laughed, giving Mattie the thumbs-up and toothy heroic grin. Man, he wished there was a way he could get that sparkle-and-_ting!_ when the light hit his teeth.

"Fine, let's get coffee, and you're buying," Matthew sighed.

"With what money? I'm broke!"

"This surprises me?" They went outside and Matthew kicked a pebble on the sidewalk as they headed for the coffee shop. "Why are you pestering me, anyway? You're here for money?"

"Uh, I'm not really broke yet, but if you could buy the coffee that would be nice. No, I was just visiting to see what was up with you. We haven't talked for forever."

"Two weeks is not forever. Anyway, I bought a new business," Matthew told him, surprising him.

"Let me guess. Maple-flavored beer!"

"Gah, you idiot. No. I bought an art gallery. I've had it for a week; moved my office there."

Alfred stared at his brother. No. Not possible.

"What are you gawking at?" Matthew punched him weakly in the arm.

He started with the obvious. "You bought an _art gallery_? That's unlike you."

"I have my reasons."

Then Alfred segued to another important topic. "Ha ha, all right, so, where is this gallery? Got any jobs for me?"

"No jobs for you. It requires tact and finesse!" They entered the coffee shop and Mattie pulled out his wallet. Ah, what a sweetie. Of course he'd come through.

"I can totally be tactful and – uh – finesse-ful, dude," Alfred said, feeling a bit stupid.

Matthew just snorted at him and ordered their drinks. When they moved along to wait for them, he finally met Alfred's eyes. "No. You can't work in my gallery."

"Where is it, anyway, though? Down on M Street?"

Mattie's jaw dropped. "How did you know? You didn't even know I'd bought it!" The barista handed them their drinks and they went outside. His twin was still staring at him like he'd grown a spare head. "Come on, Al, have you been stalking me?"

But that explained a lot. "You bought that little gallery, Galleria Piccola?"

"Yes. What do you know about it?" Matt's eyes narrowed behind his glasses as he sipped his maple drink.

"Not much; I've been there before, that's all. Took a shot in the dark that that was the one you bought. My old boyfriend Arthur works there. Where's he been? I've been trying to find him, but he's never around."

"Hah. He doesn't work there any more. I offered him the job, but he didn't want it."

Huh. Alfred wondered what Arthur was doing now, if he'd lost his job. "Did you offer him some cheap salary? Maybe if you offered more, he'd come back." That'd be sweet. Arthur, working for Mattie, making a ton of money? Alfred could move in with him and totally enjoy the fruits of his twin's hard work, indirectly, so Mattie wouldn't get pissed at him for being a slacker! He practically jumped for joy at the conclusion of this thought.

"No, I offered him a good salary. He was highly recommended, so he would have been worth it, but he turned me down the next day. He did mention you, though, when he was at the interview."

"He did? Aw. What a sweetie. I bet he misses me." Alfred gazed off into the middle distance with a little smile.

"He got all embarrassed."

"Because he thought you were me? Hah! I never did tell him about you. I like to keep my personal life separate from my family life," Alfred nodded.

"Right! Until you need money, you idiotic – idiotic – " Matt just shook his head and drank some more coffee.

"So you interviewed him? How did he look? Totally cute, I bet."

"I have no idea, Alfred, because unlike you, I do not find other men 'cute'!"

"Ha ha ha, you are so uptight. You could at least tell me if he looked cute. It doesn't automatically tag you as gay, bro."

Matthew walked on in silence and then muttered, "Yeah, he was cute."

"Ha ha! Dude, see, I knew it."

"He was blushing like crazy when I told him we were twins. Maybe he was having some, er, fantasies?"

Alfred simply could not believe his uptight little brother had said that. He stopped walking and stared at him with big wide eyes.

Matt stopped, too, and defiantly glared back at him, and his face grew redder, and redder, and redder, until he dropped his gaze to the sidewalk. "Forget I said anything."

"Aw, but you are so cute, too, man." Alfred threw an arm around his brother's shoulders. Who would have thought Matthew, uptight little Matthew, could even think such a thing? "Ha ha!" he laughed exuberantly. And then: "But where is Arthur, anyway? I don't know where he lives, and now that he's not at that gallery I don't know where to find him."

"I have no idea," Matt growled, shrugging off Alfred's arm. "Now come on, let's go back to my place, and I'll beat you at pool."

"No way, dude!" Alfred cackled some more, but his brain was busy as they headed back. He'd have to be diligent about looking for Arthur out in public somewhere, if he really wanted to find him.

Ah, he'd find him. This would give him a little more time to finesse his plan of attack.

See? He was totally finesse-ful!

…

_I missed Al! It's been ten whole chapters!_

_Next: A miscalculation._


	45. A Miscalculation

**A Miscalculation.**

"What a day," Alfred smiled to himself, slouching along Mass Ave. He'd had a pretty good day, hanging out with friends, playing soccer, horsing around, and then heading for some beers with them, but he'd gotten a little tired, so he was heading to his apartment. In his mind's eye he replayed a few of his heroic goals and saves from the afternoon, grinning to himself with pride.

It was getting dark out. His blue eyes behind their glasses automatically scanned passersby. The hunt for Arthur hadn't been going well. He'd asked Gilbert point-blank for information – remembering how Arthur had said "Gilbert told me you'd been sniffing around" – but the albino refused to spill anything further. Damn it, why was Gilbo so prissy all of a sudden?

Maybe Gilbert was dating Arthur? No. Gilbert wouldn't cheat on his goofy little cross-dresser!

Thoughts like these swirled around in Alfred's head as he walked. He'd been keeping an eye out on the streets for Arthur, every time he was out and about, but hadn't yet spotted him. When he'd confessed this to his twin, Matthew had said, "Why don't you just look for a new boyfriend? Is he really worth obsessing about?"

Well, of course it was worth it to find somebody you were already familiar with. Then you didn't have to go through all that first-date-getting-to-know-you shit. He snorted. Matthew would never understand. Though apparently Mattie had a new girlfriend, and – well, yeah, Alfred was happy for him. That was cool. He hadn't met her yet, though. He wondered whether his twin was embarrassed about her. He couldn't possibly be embarrassed about _Alfred._

Ahead of him he could see the big green sign for a coffee shop light up as darkness descended. It had been a while since he'd had any maple drinks. Not since Ivan; he couldn't bear to look at coffee shops for a long time, after that. But tonight he thought maybe a coffee – _not_ a maple drink – might be a good pick-me-up, so he walked on.

And his lazy smile grew wider and lazier as he realized the blond man with the fluffy hair, standing outside the coffee shop, was Arthur. Finally. It was like an omen. Yeah, he'd totally sneak up on him and hug him, and –

"Are you drunk, git?" Arthur asked in a soft voice, leaning into his arms. Aw, yeah, this was _so right…_

"You did miss me!" he murmured into the English ear.

"What?" Arthur jumped away from him, startling him. That wasn't how it was supposed to go! But he damn sure wasn't going to let Arthur get away this time. Not without finding out where he lived, or where he was working. "What the bloody hell are you doing, wanker?"

He loved it when Arthur called him 'wanker.' Yes, he knew what it meant, but it was so British! So cute. "My bro bought your gallery! He told me you didn't want to work there, though, but he totally figured out you were my boyfriend before, because of how you turned all red. Ha ha! I've really been missing you, and wow, tonight you just appear in front of me like magic! How cool is that?"

"And you decided it was appropriate to assault me in public?" Arthur's English accent seemed thicker, rougher; oh, he'd never heard him like this. He sounded damn good. "I told you I wasn't interested, yeah? You didn't get that?"

Alfred tried to put his arms around his ex again. "Come on, Artie. You know how horny I get. And you give the best bl—"

"Alfred F. Jones!" Arthur yelled, grabbing his shirt collar and dragging him down. "Will you shut it? Stay away from me!" he demanded.

And then Arthur suddenly stopped talking, let go of his shirt, and got a very perplexed expression on his face. What was going on?

Damn! It was that Italian son of a bitch again! And he was _holding Arthur's hand_? Lucky Arthur, his brain thought wildly, before focusing.

"Why don't we leave?" the man asked Arthur, his accented voice peaceful. Maybe he hadn't seen Alfred standing there? Oh, that wasn't possible.

Arthur swept his hair out of his eyes like a prima donna and stuck his nose in the air, turning away. Alfred almost laughed at this, but he was too upset about the stupid Italian guy!

Before he could make another plea to Artie, the dark man turned and grabbed his shirt front, yanking him off balance. "If you ever bother him again, you fucking bastard, I'll slap a restraining order on you so hard it'll knock you back to California!" The man shoved Alfred away, letting go of the shirt, and turned to walk away with Arthur.

Ha ha ha. "Yeah, right," Alfred sneered, once he'd regained his balance. He couldn't let some Italian pansy take Arthur away from him! "You pussy. A restraining order? A real man wouldn't –_Ow!_" The bastard had punched him in the nose! And it was _bleeding?_ Alfred was so amazed he just stood there, cupping his nose, staring wildly at the guy.

"Stay the fuck away from us," the man snarled. "If I catch you near either one of us, I'll make things very bad for you. Very bad for your brother Williams, too. Do you understand?"

Wide-eyed, Alfred nodded, pinching his aching nose shut, trying to stop the flow of blood. He didn't want Mattie hurt. Pulling the hem of his shirt out of his jeans and using it to mop himself up, he kept his eyes on the dangerous Italian. He darted one last sad look at Arthur – who was looking almost as dumbfounded as Alfred felt – and then watched him walk away with the foreign brute, hands joined intimately. Fuck.

Alfred stood on the sidewalk until his nose had stopped bleeding – long after Arthur and his, his new boyfriend (gah, how it hurt to even _think_ such a phrase) had passed from sight.

He needed to think about all this. Wiping his face with his sleeve, he waved for a taxi, deciding to splurge on the remaining half-mile to his apartment.

Alfred F. Jones did not admit defeat. But – but maybe he'd made a mistake. Maybe Mattie was right, and it was time to move on. Maybe.

…

_Next: Hero to the rescue._


	46. Hero to the Rescue!

**Hero to the Rescue!**

Alfred put his boots on and went outside for a walk. He had nothing in particular to do today; he'd been messing around with his video games all day, but...bleah.

As he walked, his mind wandered, as it tended to do. He started thinking about his life, and how adrift he was still feeling after coming home from Paradise. He'd assumed that his stint as a bartender there had given him the will to work, to turn over a new leaf. But…no. Now that he was back in DC, he was having a lot of fun just floating around, seeing his friends, socializing, and doing whatever he felt like doing.

You know, this was what made everyone think Alfred was irresponsible, and he was damn tired of it. His parents had always cut him a lot of slack, compared to the way they treated Matt. He wondered why. Just because he was flighty? Maybe. Maybe it was tough to raise a kid who was so easily distracted, too hard to make him focus; maybe they'd just found it too hard to keep fighting that battle. They were always happy to see him when they got together, and he loved them, so he tried not to pester them too much. Like, he never asked _them_ for money.

Ah, really, the only reason he pestered Mattie was because he had a ton of money! If Matt had a job like Gilbert's, he wouldn't! Gilbo made good money for one man to support himself, and that was about it. And his twin was always so accommodating. Really, Alfred now wondered, why should he even bother to change? Life was pretty good as it was, except for the lack of dates. The lack of dates!

Riding the metro home from Gilbert's Thanksgiving Day dinner last week, he'd let his mind wander to Arthur and his boyfriend. Yeah, he, Alfred, had been a bit stupid that day, not remembering the dark-haired guy, just realizing he was a really good-looking guy, and knowing they'd met somewhere. That was stupid. Well, at least the dude hadn't punched him in the nose that time.

That lesson had hit home (so to speak). Alfred had mostly given up on Arthur now, at least given up actively pursuing him. If something happened to break up the Brit's relationship with the Italian, and drove Arthur back into Alfred's arms, he wouldn't say no. Here he grinned. Hell, he'd say yes, and very loudly! But – he didn't want the Italian bastard to make trouble for Mattie – or for him – so, reluctantly, he'd decided not to keep chasing Arthur around. He could find somebody new. Hell! Maybe he'd even try dating a _girl_ for a change. He wondered what that would be like. Girls were pretty, and he liked to flirt with them, but he was afraid it would be unheroic to date a girl and have no intention of anything other than flirting. It might break her heart.

His head snapped up as he heard the loud drone of a car horn. _No!_ A lady was about to get hit by a car! Brakes squealed as Alfred leaped into the road, scooping up the slight blonde woman, and pelted to the opposite side of the road, panting. The car's driver stopped, and then waved weakly to them out the window before driving on more slowly.

"A-are you all right?" he asked. His legs were wobbly, but he felt so cool! Still holding the girl, he leaned against a lamppost.

She sighed dreamily. "Like, totes all right, Alfred! Thanks so much!"

What? How did this girl know his name? Then he looked at her.

Oh.

It was Feliks in drag. Damn. Just when he thought he was going to have a new life adventure.

"Why weren't you looking where you were going?" he thundered, letting his disappointment show. Nuts! He'd really thought something interesting was about to happen! And here it was silly old Feliks in his girly clothes. Not that he looked bad in them – he did make a very convincing girl – but, damn.

"Sorry," Feliks said, making no move to get out of the protective circle of Alfred's arms. The cross-dresser smiled at him in a flirty way. "You totally are, like, wonderful," he crooned, nestling closer.

Gah! He couldn't stand here canoodling with Gilbert's girlfri—boyfriend in the middle of the sidewalk! Alfred let go and straightened up. "If you're all right, Feliks –"

"Fer shure, thanks to you, sweetie, I totally am. I'm all right to the max." Then he pouted a little. "I – I have to go to the store. Will you walk with me, to make totally _sure_ I'm all right?" Sh—_he_ batted his eyelashes at Alfred.

Ugh.

"It would, like, be a heroic thing to do," Feliks concluded with an air kiss, and Alfred swore inside.

"Yes, Feliks, I'll heroically escort you to the store," he sighed. "Which one?"

Feliks took his arm and pointed, and the two of them walked to the shop, Feliks clinging and giggling, and Alfred as stiff as a post.

Nuts.

…

_Next: Sad times all around._


	47. Sad Times All Around

**Sad Times All Around.**

"So that's, like, how it happened," Feliks told him, twisting the strap of his handbag in his lap. "I kind of feel this is like some kind of omen, you know? It's totally like something out of a movie."

Gilbert nodded. He'd had a funny feeling ever since Feliks had called him this morning, and it wasn't a good feeling.

"I – so, I – um, well, I'm, like, sorry, Gilbert, but I don't think we should, like, see each other any more. I think I'm totally meant to be with Alfred."

There was a silence.

"Gilbert?"

"Yeah, whatever," he said, somewhat angrily, but he wasn't going to sit on this damn park bench and argue with a transvestite who clearly had a goal. A goal that didn't include him!

"You're not m-mad at me?" Feliks tilted his head towards him and pouted his glossy lips.

"Cut out the fake fucking pout," he said wearily. "Just go chase him, if that's what you want. I'm fine with it." But he wasn't, really.

"Oh, Gilbert. I knew you'd totally understand." Feliks patted him on the arm. "We've had a lot of good times together, haven't we?"

"Don't start with the stupid memories shit, Feliks. Just go."

Nodding sadly, Feliks sighed and went.

Gilbert was – well – _partially_ upset about this. Yes, it felt like he'd been hit by a ton of bricks. Dumped – for _Alfred!_ Hah, Feliks had it coming, seriously, whatever shit that idiot dealt out. The dancer was clearly living in a dream world, if he thought Alfred was worth pursuing. Gilbert had known him for more than ten years now, and, well, Alfred was, frankly, an idiot. Fun, hell yeah, and cute, too, but…totally idiotic.

He'd have to scrub the word "totally" from his vocabulary now, damn it. "I hope you're happy!" he blurted at Feliks' retreating back. The cross-dresser stumbled in heels but did not turn, and kept walking away.

Gilbert put his head in his hands. Now what the hell was he going to do? Well, right now, right this second, he was going to stay on the park bench and think. He'd have to sit here a while and figure out what to do about the part after he got off the park bench.

He needed to get back into the social scene right away, not sit around moping about this. But he couldn't call up any of his old dates. He'd been a bit, well, he hadn't been very polite to many of them, once he and Feliks had started dating exclusively. Gilbert had been rather abrupt, turning people down with glee, because he was – he'd _thought_ he was – in love, and didn't need to keep any of those casual dates on the string. So, now, to try to go swanning back into someone's life after that: no. He would have to meet someone new.

He sat on the park bench for a long time. He thought about Feliks, even though he didn't want to, and he thought about Alfred.

Thinking about Alfred made him think about Arthur, and he cheered up immediately. Artie would help him out. Artie would tell him how much better off he'd be without Feliks, would buy him a meal at the diner, would call him a git and make him laugh, and they'd have a lot of fun together.

Unless he was busy with Lovino today. But then, they could still do something tomorrow, or whenever Artie was free. Gilbert pulled out his phone and dialed Arthur's number.

It rang into voice mail, so he left a message. "Hey, it's me, kesesese! Haven't talked to you in a while and I'd like to. Give me a ring when you get my message."

Ah, he'd be all right. Arthur would call him, and they'd hang out, and everything would be awesome.

…

Christmas had come and gone, and Gilbert still hadn't heard from Arthur. He'd recovered his equilibrium vis-à-vis Feliks, and although he'd not yet started dating again, at least the world didn't look so stupid and bleak. But he'd been leaving Arthur messages all the time, and the blond hadn't returned a single call! Had Gilbert done anything to anger his friend? He couldn't think of anything. Surely that stupid idea of inviting Alfred to the Thanksgiving party hadn't been that bad. Had it?

Remembering Alfred's abrupt unannounced departure for California, Gilbert now wondered whether Arthur had done something similar. Maybe he and Lovino had broken up, and Artie had gone back to England?

That would suck, if his friend had left town without saying goodbye. He'd have to keep an eye out for Lovino, and ask him if he saw him.

Oh! Gilbert had an idea. He did know where Arthur's apartment was. He'd go see him there. He hopped in his convertible and drove over to the complex.

Instead of sedately riding in the elevator, he leaped up the stairs, bounding into the hallway with glee, imagining the look on Artie's face when he'd surprise him. He rang the doorbell and heard footsteps inside. Kesesese! Gilbert arranged his face into a pleasant, artificial smile, and when the door opened he said, "Hey, man!"

The little Asian lady who'd opened the door frowned at him. "What you want?"

Gilbert's crimson eyes widened. "Where's Arthur?"

"What? Who? No Arthur. You go."

"Wait!" he called out. "Isn't this where Arthur – " Yes, he _knew_ this was Arthur's apartment. "How long have you lived here?" he called out, as the lady slammed the door shut.

"Five month!" she retorted through the closed door.

Five months? _Five_ months? Gilbert stood in the hallway, counting on his fingers. It was January now. Five months ago was September! But he'd seen Arthur after September, hadn't he?

Well, yes, there was the stupid Thanksgiving thing, and the Smithsonian night too!

Gilbert's heart began to hurt him. Arthur _had_ gone off somewhere without telling his friend.

He slouched to his car, made it back to his own condo, and once inside, got a beer and let himself get maudlin. Everyone was leaving him! He'd end up bitter and alone, some old pathetic albino that nobody wanted.

Three beers later he finally let himself cry a little. He cried during the entire fifth beer, and when he finished it, he straightened up, stopped crying, and cleaned up the empties. This was not going to get him down. He refused to let it.

His eyes fell on his computer. Maybe he could send Artie an email?

But if he'd gone – probably back to England, or else he'd be answering his cell phone – if he'd gone without telling Gilbert, maybe he didn't want Gilbert to know.

He thought back to that night they'd discussed the drag queen convention, all the other times Arthur had helped him out with stuff. Damn it. He felt tears pricking again.

Suddenly he hated Washington, wanted to get away from it all. Away from the constant memories of Feliks, away from the emptiness in his head and his heart. He checked his calendar in a slight alcoholic haze and realized he had a lot of vacation accrued. Yeah. Tomorrow he'd think about a vacation. For tonight, he just needed a hot calming shower, and bed.

…

_Next: Lightning strikes Antonio._


	48. Lightning Strikes Antonio

**Lightning Strikes Antonio.**

Café Spagnolo was doing an excellent business, and Antonio could not have been more pleased with his decision to relocate to Florence. His job was relatively unstressful, he lived in a beautiful city, and he'd prospered enough to hire two new people! One man was a baker that he'd poached from a French patisserie in town, and the other a young female barista. Of course Diana still baked and worked as a barista with him, and he, Antonio, did whatever needed to be done. He had a beautiful new _apartamento_ in a great location near the Duomo, and – well – everything was great!

Antonio had gone on a few dates recently, but no one ever seemed to understand his dedication to work. The sweet young Italian men that he pursued wanted to stay out all night, drinking and dancing, or keep Antonio awake, playing sexy games in their big soft beds. But he always had to go home at a reasonable hour, because he had to be at the café at five each morning. Everything had to be prepared for the six o'clock opening. These boys didn't understand.

He stood behind the counter today; they always did a brisk business in baked goods on Friday, when people dropped by to stock up for their weekend. Diana and Paul were in the back, baking, and his young barista had today off. Antonio rang up sale after sale and smiled his dazed smile at every customer who made a purchase.

After the morning rush had ended, he moved to the espresso machine to make himself a cup. He needed it! Today had been even busier than usual. He watched the drink froth into the tiny demitasse cup and immediately sipped it. He never felt the heat of the drink any more, after so many years, and he never burned himself.

The bitter darkness spread invitingly over his tongue. He savored it as it slid down his throat. Within just a few seconds, the café owner had finished the tiny cupful and set it aside for cleaning. The little bell over the door rang, announcing someone's arrival, so he put the smile on his face and turned to serve the customer.

_Dios m__í__o!_ This man was like a surly dark angel. _Beautiful_. Antonio did not realize he was staring with his mouth agape until he heard the Italian voice politely request a latte. The Spaniard collected his wits, nodded his understanding of the order. He wanted to please this customer, wanted to chase that frown from the striking young face and hear him speak words of love.

Antonio blinked and took the customer's money, and then turned to the espresso machine. What was he thinking? But oh, _Dios_, that man was attractive. He sneaked a peek; the customer, now seated in the back of the café, was removing his gloves and smiling faintly.

The barista surreptitiously kissed his own fingertip, pressing it on the handle of the espresso cup, feeling like an _idiota_. But he suddenly, desperately wanted this man.

He took the cup to the young man's table, smiling sunnily at him. "_Grazie_," he told the customer, beaming, hoping for a repeat of that surprising smile on the perfect face.

But the customer merely took the mug and nodded. So. Not an easy catch, Antonio surmised, going back to the counter.

He knew this man had never been in the café before – not while he'd been there. Antonio would definitely have remembered such a person. He watched the elegant hands lift the cup, shivered with a little anticipatory thrill as he realized the stranger's fingers were on the cup handle right where he'd pressed the kiss. Ah, if only it were his body that the fingers were caressing –

Diana came out of the back room with a tray of macaroons and he was distracted for a few minutes, helping her place them in the pastry case. He hummed as he worked, and the older woman smiled at him, well-used to his sunny nature by now.

As they arranged the macaroons, he noticed the customer leaving. Oh, no…Antonio managed another inviting grin, but the man, pulling his gloves on, merely nodded politely and left.

_Madre de Dios,_ he hoped that man came back. He wouldn't let him slip away so easily next time.

…

Antonio was late getting to work the next day because he had some errands to run. But oh! He nearly stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the dark stranger seated by the back wall again. Although he'd felt tired, the Spaniard was immediately energized. He noticed the man was reading from an e-book. So – maybe he planned to stay here a while? Antonio began to whistle with glee.

He made himself an espresso and knocked it back quickly; other men might need alcohol to fuel their courage, but a man from the country of passion had no need of such a crutch. Coffee would do just as well. He watched his prey for several minutes; the man did not look up until his cup was empty, at which point he shrugged and set it down, continuing to read.

Aha. An opening. Antonio walked over and sat right down next to him. Mm, he even smelled intoxicating – "_Mi scusi,_" he said, to get his thoughts focused.

The customer looked up in surprise. "Yes?"

"Would you like a refill of your latte?" He beamed.

The customer frowned a little. Then: "_S__ì__. Grazie_." He pushed the mug towards the café owner.

"I'll be right back." Antonio took it and went back to the espresso machine.

When he came back he placed the full mug on the table and then decided to sit. Who knew if he'd get this chance again? He was really happy that he owned the café – nobody could yell at him for slacking off! "My name is Antonio," he offered. "You're new here?"

"Just visiting," the dark man said curtly, his attention on the latte.

"Florence is a beautiful city. You should take a tour; make sure you see the Uffizi and the Duomo."

"Already have. Probably will again," the man said, smiling just a little as he gazed into the mug.

"Well, you are always welcome at my café, _signore_."

"Thanks." The customer turned his attention back to his e-book and Antonio reluctantly left the table.

But he did spend the remainder of the man's visit staring at him from behind the counter, concocting elaborate fantasies.

…

Antonio was in exceedingly high spirits the next day. Call it a premonition, call it whatever you wanted to, but he knew that man would be back. The Spaniard had dressed with care, wearing a dark plum shirt that he knew brought out the green of his eyes. His windswept dark hair looked artistically ruffled as usual. He drank three cups of espresso before they even opened the café that morning, wanting to be alert and make his move when the beautiful dark man finally came back.

Ha, yes, he had been right! There he was again. Love speaks to the heart, which was no doubt what had drawn the young man back to his café. Love brought him here; love would keep him here today.

Antonio behaved professionally as he took the order and made the drink. There was no queue of customers, due to the sudden rain, so he took the latte to the table and sat again. "You must not be enjoying your vacation much, _tío_, if you're spending it all in my café!" He grinned flirtatiously.

The customer – whose name Antonio still did not know – looked out the window and shifted his chair a bit. "My friend is busy for a little while, that's all," he offered. He met the Spaniard's eyes and offered a hesitant, sweet smile.

Antonio's eyes widened at that and he boldly took the customer's hand. "You're devastating when you smile like that," he purred, raising the hand to his lips for a kiss.

The customer stared at him, allowing Antonio's lips to press against the palm of his hand. Then: "_Chigi!_" he yelled, yanking his hand away, but this was drowned out by a loud clatter from the front of the cafe; the door slammed. Everyone in the place turned to the sound and saw some wooden boxes on the floor and the door swinging to and fro in the rain. The customer jumped up. "Get out of my way, you fucking bastard." He shoved Antonio in the chair and ran to the boxes on the floor.

What on earth was the matter with this man? Why had he reacted so harshly? He'd smiled so beautifully –

But it was too late now. The striking young man had left the café, carrying the wooden boxes. Clearly, something had disturbed him, more than Antonio's advances had done. He wondered what it was, and felt a little sad in his heart.

Well, the café closed at four. He'd walk to the Duomo and light a candle. Maybe the Blessed Virgin would help him find his dark, would-be lover.

…

It was still pouring down rain when he locked up for the day. Antonio opened the umbrella he kept in the back room, taking a deep breath of the fresh cold air. He loved this smell. It must be an omen. He'd find that man.

It wasn't far from the café to the cathedral. He whistled some more as he walked. Yes, he was optimistic. Maybe he'd make churros tonight to celebrate. Hmm, yes…He closed his wet umbrella and entered the hushed cathedral.

_Santísima Virgen María!_ Yes, the Blessed Mother loved him. She must. Because there was his beautiful Italian man, standing by the candles in the vestibule, with his eyes closed. Antonio smiled and put a hand on the man's shoulder. "_Tío,_ you're so soaked!"

"Shut the f—shut up," the Italian hissed, amber eyes now wide open, pushing him backwards to the doors. "Don't be stupid in the church!"

Ah, he was a little firecracker! Antonio's blood was fired; he couldn't believe how badly he wanted to claim this man, to make him his own. Yes, he could light a candle to the Blessed Maria later; he'd go outside with this temperamental man and win him over, right now. He walked outside and put his umbrella up again.

But the man reached out both hands and shoved him away. "_Vaffanculo!_ Are you stalking me?" Then he scowled even harder and stepped back from the umbrella. "This has been the worst fucking day of my life, and it's all your fault, bastard."

Oh, he must simply be nervous. Antonio could calm him down. He smiled reassuringly. "Why are you calling me names, _tío_? Your face gets all red when you scowl, like a tomato, and you don't look so good."

"Look, you – you asshole, stay away from me! I'm not interested in you! I'm – I'm – I'm in love with someone else, and I am not interested in you!"

Antonio sighed. He would have to _make_ the man interested in him. They were fated to be together! Why had he been in the church, just where Antonio was headed? He kept smiling. "I'm not stalking you, little _tomatito_. It was sheer luck that brought me to you just now. Luck, or…perhaps we are fated to be together?" This last he murmured in his best seductive voice, stepping closer and reaching out a hand to caress the Italian's red cheek. The man smacked his hand away. "Lovely one, I don't even know your name."

"_Chigi!_" he responded. "You stupid –"

The Spaniard felt a hand on his shoulder; before he could turn, he was pulled off-balance and his umbrella waved around wildly as he tried to stand upright again. Someone must have lost their footing and grabbed him for support. He turned with a pleasant smile to forgive the falling person, and that someone punched him in the face!

"Get away from him," an English voice snarled. Antonio focused on a very angry blond man, whose fists were held up defensively.

Well, he certainly wasn't going to stand here and take a beating from some _bastardo ingles!_ He wasn't going to let himself look bad in front of his mystery man. Antonio dropped the umbrella and leaped on the blond, and they began fighting in earnest.

_Diablos,_ this man was a menace! Antonio fought with all the skill he'd developed in the streets of Madrid, not troubling to fight fair. But the Englishman fought dirty as well, and he was rough. The two of them fought, fairly evenly-matched, for what seemed like a long time to Antonio. Every time he had a respite he glanced at the Italian man, who was watching in fear. Ah, he'd beat this English devil to a pulp and win the admiration of the beautiful Italian…Antonio swung and missed; the Englishman knocked him down and sat on him, punching his face repeatedly. The Spaniard began to groan.

"Come away from him, Arthur!" the Italian yelled, and the _bastardo_ hit Antonio in the eye one last time; he felt the back of his head smash into the pavement, and he went limp. He'd get this English bastard some other day.

"Bloody son of a bitch. I have better things to do than fight you. Stay away from him." The blond stood up and, just to add insult to injury, stomped on Antonio's umbrella, breaking the handle.

Antonio lay in the gutter, moaning weakly, feeling the rain pounding his bruised body. He'd get up in a minute. Right now he just needed to lie here. He turned his head and saw his beautiful Italian man tenderly holding the blond's face in his hands, a deep look of concern on his face.

Sadly, Antonio watched them as they spoke, joined hands, embraced. Perhaps he should admit defeat. Perhaps the alluring Italian was not meant to be his. He groped for his broken umbrella and levered himself up.

Once the rain had washed off the blood, he'd go light a candle anyway. Things could have been much worse! What if the English bastard had caught them in bed together? Antonio suppressed a little frisson (whether of desire or fear, even he couldn't say) and tilted his head to the wide grey sky, letting the rain wash away the stress, the blood, the pain.

Ah, what was one Italian more or less? He'd find someone else tomorrow. Now mostly clean, Antonio limped into the church and lit his candle. "Thank you, Blessed Mother," he whispered, though for what, he wasn't sure. "Thank you for keeping me safe."

…

_I hope my Spanish is all right. Thank you, Kastiyana!_

_I'm kind of wondering, now, what it would be like to get idiot!Antonio and idiot!Alfred in the same room. Doubt it will happen in this story, though. _

_Next: Sisterly love._


	49. Sisterly Love

**Sisterly Love.**

"Would you like to go shopping today?" Katia asked Natalia, somewhat meekly. She wanted to get a new pair of heels for her date with Matthew tonight. She knew Natalia favored more upscale stores, but maybe they could have some relaxing time together, just two sisters having fun, instead of being in the house together and always bickering?

Natalia drummed her lacquered plum nails on her keyboard impatiently. "Why would I want to go shopping with you?"

"Why not?" Katia countered weakly. Maybe this had been a bad idea…but then, it sounded like Natalia wasn't really interested. So maybe she was off the hook? She tried one more time, to be polite. "I just thought you might like to have a little fun, spend a little time with me. I'll – I'll buy you coffee?" she offered, lip wobbling. Why did Natalia have to be so difficult?

Her sister smirked. "Coffee is supposed to be an inducement?" Then she closed the laptop. "Why not. Let me get my shoes on."

Well, Katia had committed to it. Now she had to see it through.

…

As the two of them wandered around Tysons Galleria, Katia aiming for Macy's and Natalia for Neiman Marcus (each at opposite ends of the mall, which was making things difficult), the younger sister started her usual harangue. "I don't know why you don't wear minimizer bras. It's so – so _trailer trash_ of you to be bouncing around like that all the time."

Katia closed her eyes and prayed for patience. She got the bra lecture at least once a month. Her voice dropped. "Minimizer bras hurt my breasts. I've told you this before."

"I'm surprised they even make bras big enough for those things."

"They're difficult to find, it's true, but I can order them online."

Natalia snorted in an unladylike fashion and ran her hands brazenly over her own small breasts, squeezing them repeatedly. Right out in public! Katia felt her face getting red. Didn't her sister have any shame? "Too bad; you know I can wear almost anything, with my petite breasts, but you have to wear those farm girl clothes."

Oh, why, oh, why had she thought it would be a good idea to go shopping with Natalia? She could feel the tears rising already. "Just because I'm not _flat as a board,_" she began, as defiantly as she could –

"Shut up and buy me my coffee." Natalia stared down at her own breasts as they walked to the coffee shop; Katia just kept praying the whole discussion was over.

But no. Just as they reached the barista, a woman, Natalia said in a loud voice, "Now, see, that girl has very nice breasts! I wonder where she gets her bras?"

Katia wanted to die. She turned and ran right out of the coffee shop, crying, hyper-aware of her own well-endowed state, mentally cursing her crazy sister. She ran all the way to Macy's, hugging her handbag to her chest, safe in the knowledge that Natalia would never willingly enter the mid-market department store.

She paced around the store feebly, not really noticing the merchandise, wondering yet again whether she should get breast reduction surgery, just to shut her sister up.

No, that was a really stupid reason to do it. And besides – Katia began to get a tiny smile on her face – Matthew liked her figure. She blushed, remembering the awkward compliments he always paid her, remembering his shyness the first few times they'd been physical together. Oh, she hadn't slept with him yet – good girls didn't do that sort of thing – but they'd done a lot that fell short of actual intercourse, and – and – and Matthew was such a sweet lover, always telling her how beautiful she was, how aroused her curvaceous body got him. Standing in the middle of the men's department at Macy's, she got a faraway look on her face, daydreaming of him, and when she was jolted out of her reverie by a passing employee manhandling a cart, she decided to buy him a little gift.

Natalia forgotten, Katia wandered through the aisles of merchandise, trying to decide what to buy him. A tie? No. Socks? Oh, no. He always wore socks with maple leaves on them. She knew his parents lived in Canada and supposed that was why he wore them.

Her eyes widened as she saw a big display of silk boxers, all done in styles of the flags of various nations. She saw a Union Jack, the tricolor of Italy, even the beautiful blue and yellow flag of Ukraine, so little known, but with such a striking color combination. Katia eagerly pawed through the display, hoping to find – "Aha!" she crowed in triumph, waving a pair of maple leaf boxers aloft.

Then she realized she'd been acting a little silly, so, blushing, she carried the boxers to the checkout. (She hoped they'd fit him. She had no idea how to size men's underwear!)

With a smile on her face, planning how she'd present them to him, she bounced out of Macy's into the mall again, only to run into the scowling Natalia. "Where the hell have you been? You realize I can't get home by myself. You have the car keys."

"Shut up," Katia said boldly, still riding the high of finding the perfect gift, and headed towards the exit. "Next time call a cab."

Natalia, stomping her feet, followed, not saying a word.

…

_Next: Collecting rare spoons has its benefits._


	50. Collecting Rare Spoons

**Collecting Rare Spoons.**

Paris in the spring! Gilbert was so excited.

Well, it wasn't really spring yet. Early March. But still.

He was heading to Versailles today on a tour bus with some other English-speaking tourists. Yes, his French was excellent, but it was still easier for him to listen to and process unusual information, like tour stuff, in English. He dressed casually (but still looked awesome) and headed downstairs for some breakfast in the hotel restaurant.

He'd heard and read so much about Paris over his lifetime that when his vacation had been approved, he'd almost immediately decided on it as his destination. Yeah, there might be other interesting places in the world, but France was one of the top three places he'd wanted to visit. (The others were Germany and Spain, but he'd save them for later.)

Gilbert went through his mental tourist checklist as he ate. Versailles, yes, today, check. Eiffel Tower, maybe tomorrow. The Versailles trip was scheduled for the whole day. Boat down the Seine. Champs-Élysées. Oh, yeah! He'd get a new suit somewhere. A French suit. The albino lost focus for a moment, buffing his nails on his shirt, thinking about how good he'd look back in Washington, going to work in a tailored French suit.

What else? Ah, it really didn't matter. He'd been here three days, he was over his jet lag, and he was excited as hell. "Kesesesese!" he laughed, finishing his coffee. Time to move along.

…

Versailles was indeed all that. After a little while, Gilbert mostly tuned out the tour information and simply wandered around with his jaw dropped. He wondered what it would have been like to be Louis XIV, able to plan and build such magnificence. He spent a pleasant little while thinking of himself as the king. Then he realized that he would have made a much better fighter than king. Maybe a musketeer! He grinned, imagining himself swashbuckling, fighting to protect his king.

The rich interiors of the palace frankly stunned Gilbert. He'd grown up in a small Pennsylvania town, where the most exciting architecture was the concrete City Hall built in 1970. Ugh! And then he'd moved to Washington, where it seemed like every building was a stark white marble monument. Staring at the gilding, the inlaid parquet floors, the exotic Hall of Mirrors, he wondered aloud why this sort of thing didn't exist in America. It should! It was amazing.

Nobody answered him, so he walked on.

By the time the albino came out of his tourist daze, he'd missed the bus back to the city. Damn. Well, he could take a taxi. He had enough money, and his French was certainly good enough for that. He knew there was always a long line of taxis outside; he'd seen them when the tour bus had pulled up.

But he'd better get moving. It was past dinnertime. Well, he'd stop by the gift shop and pick up some cool thing to take home to remind him of this great day.

The gift shop was awash with customers no doubt all having the same last-minute thoughts as Gilbert. He elbowed his way towards a display of posters, then got bumped over to the stationery counter, neither of which really interested him.

Gilbert stopped and looked around. Porcelain? Might break in the suitcase on the way home, and that would majorly suck. Jewelry? Maybe. He'd noticed a lot of French guys wearing bracelets. Maybe he'd get a fancy French bracelet.

Eh, maybe not; maybe it would look stupid. But he could at least _buy_ it. He didn't need to actually wear it.

The closest he could manage to get was the souvenir spoons display. But they were beautiful! He'd seen souvenir spoons before (and they hadn't interested him much), but for some reason even the spoons at Versailles were awesome. He bent down, peering into the glass case, and his ass bumped someone. "Oh! Sorry," he said, standing up and turning around. "Uh, I mean, _excusez-moi. Desole._"

Wow. Even the _tourists_ at Versailles were awesome. His eyes looked up and up to meet the twinkling blue ones of a spiky-haired blond man, who was grinning and scratching his head. "It's all right," the man said in accented English. "I speak English too."

"I see that," Gilbert replied with a grin. "I mean, I hear it." Kesesese! Was this an omen? He hoped so.

"Are there any nice spoons?" the man then asked, coming closer. Standing next to Gilbert, he bent down to peer into the glass case just as the albino had done.

But Gilbert, sneaky, noted the reflection of the man's eyes in the glass, and saw they were looking at him, and not the spoons. His grin grew. "Do you recommend any?" he asked.

"I like this one." The blond jabbed a finger down towards a spoon with the exterior aspect of the palace engraved in the bowl.

"That is a nice one," Gilbert agreed, and he wasn't just saying that. It was very delicate work. "I'll take one of those," he arbitrarily decided, speaking to the clerk, who opened a drawer to get a boxed spoon. "Do you want one?" he asked his new companion. "My treat!" Why the hell not? It had been a great day.

"Only if you let me buy you dinner," the man said with a smile. "Dinner and a beer?"

"I love beer!" He turned back and asked the clerk for a second spoon, handing her his credit card. "_Je m'appelle_ Gilbert Beilschmidt," he said cheekily, holding out his hand.

"_Et je suis_ Mathias Kohler. Pleased to meet you." They shook hands and Gilbert took the packaged spoons.

"Likewise," he laughed.

Kesesese! Maybe he'd start collecting spoons from every place he visited!

…

_This spoon business is very much a part of my headcanon now. Prussia will no doubt do this in every story I write, from now on._

_Next: Yes. The chapter everyone's been waiting for. Ohonhonhon._


	51. Francis Wants a Threesome

**Francis Wants a Threesome.**

Francis smoothed his hair back upon receiving the intercom message from his employer. He knew that M. Lovino Vargas was coming by today, and he was very excited; he had hoped that he, of all the assistants, would be the one chosen to help the Italian. And he was! _Merci_, _M. S__é__bastien._

Probably everyone in Europe recognized the name of Vargas; M. Lovino's father had had his fingers in many entrepreneurial pies, and had been flamboyant enough to keep himself in the news constantly. But other than knowing that M. Lovino lived in America now, Francis didn't know much about him. He knew the man must be fairly young, and he desperately hoped he was attractive and willing to play.

After his frightening encounter with M. Wang, several months ago, Francis had drawn back from any kind of inappropriate activity. He'd almost paid for M. Wang's wardrobe himself, just to shut the man up, but had then realized this would give the Chinese man more fuel for blackmail, if he so chose. It was only recently that Francis had started up again – with mixed results, although none as fearsome as Wang Yao. But he was more than willing to take a chance on a famous, rich young man like Lovino Vargas. He idly wondered what kind of wardrobe M. Lovino required.

Francis looked in the mirror and blew himself a kiss, winking, before heading out into the main showroom area.

_Sacre bleu!_ The Frenchman felt his heart flutter. He'd had no idea that M. Vargas was blond. How delicious…he could feel desire stir already, and then M. Sébastien introduced a scowling brunet nearby as M. Vargas, and the delectable blond as his associate, M. Kirkland, who needed the new clothing.

Francis put on his best flirtatious smile. Well, M. Vargas might be surly, but Francis could chase that frown away. Oh, yes. Now he was positively itching to get these two into the back room together – _mon Dieu_ – but had to finish the clothing selection first.

He was so eager to get M. Kirkland in and out of clothing that he altered the usual protocol. Ordinarily, the client would select a rack, or more, of clothing, and then they would adjourn to the fitting room to try things on and get measurements. But today Francis decided to have M. Kirkland try various things on right from the start. He wasn't worried about M. Sébastien realizing this – the owner was quite busy preparing for the fashion show – and M. Vargas hadn't been to the boutique in three years (Francis had checked). So he wouldn't be aware of the current procedures. Francis also wanted to take specific clothing measurements as they went along, so that when they finally got into the back room, there would be nothing left to do but enjoy themselves.

"Will you be assisting in the clothing choices, M. Vargas?"

"Nh. Come out and show me, bastard," he said to M. Kirkland. "Pick out at least six suits and whatever else you feel like, and if it looks like shit I'll tell you."

Francis was slightly taken aback. "Monsieur! None of M. Sébastien's clothing ever 'looks like shit.'" He shuddered.

"Dammit. You know what I mean," he said to M. Kirkland, who grinned and nodded an acknowledgement. M. Vargas then sat in a comfortable chair to watch.

Francis spared a moment to bring a bottle of Perrier and a glass to the surly M. Vargas, who accepted it and sat back. Perhaps this would mellow the young man somewhat. He was a very attractive man, Francis realized, but that scowl – _merde!_ The man would never find a lover, looking like that.

"Carry on," the brunet then said in a negligent manner.

Francis was on fire. He was going to have one, or preferably both, of these very desirable men today. They were young enough to be flexible about it – unlike M. Wang, who was quite a bit older – and he knew that M. Vargas now lived in America, so the likelihood of repercussions was slim. _Ohonhonhon._ Today looked like a very good day indeed.

…

Francis beamed at the blond man. Nothing, by any stretch of the imagination, had "looked like shit" on him. Even M. Kirkland's hair – somewhat shaggy and sloppy – had added to his panache, giving him a rakish, just-rolled-out-of-bed look, even in a business suit. Francis' brain was contorting in ways he'd never thought possible, trying to find the best way to seduce this succulent young Englishman.

Unfortunately, M. Vargas would not allow himself to be coaxed into the dressing room. Francis had tried repeatedly: in a businesslike manner, flirtatiously, even appealing to the brunet's fashion sense. But lackadaisically, Vargas had flapped a hand at his friend, nodding mildly, each time the blond had come out of the dressing room in a new outfit. How could the Italian be so nonchalant? Francis himself was positively drooling.

M. Kirkland seemed very ill-at-ease here in the boutique, as though he were not accustomed to this level of service. "You and M. Vargas have been friends for a long time?" Francis inquired delicately, fishing for information, as M. Kirkland followed him into the dressing room for the final measuring.

"Mr. Vargas is my employer," the Brit said stiffly.

True? Or a prevarication, so that they wouldn't be discussing personal matters? Francis tried again, getting his measuring implements ready near the dais. He didn't bother pointing out the changing screen. Didn't want to miss a thing. "Have you worked for him for a long time?"

M. Kirkland blushed deeply and began to fiddle with the buttons on his jacket. "Nh. Over a year, now." He did not sound eager to talk about it.

Francis winked at him, but M. Kirkland was focused on the jacket buttons and didn't see. "Allow me," the couturier said, unbuttoning them deftly. Were they lovers? Friends? Or truly just colleagues? He couldn't guess why Vargas would be buying a new wardrobe for M. Kirkland, unless they were significantly closer than colleagues. Perhaps M. Vargas had picked up this rough gem somewhere and wanted to polish him into a diamond before making a move on him. Ah, the poor naïve M. Kirkland…

_Eh, bien,_ if they were not yet lovers, then Francis had no qualms at all about playtime now. He'd be doing Vargas a _favor! _He moved to stand behind the Englishman and catch the jacket as the young man so casually shrugged it off. Francis quickly placed it on a hanger, hanging it on the nearby rack, and moved to stand in front of M. Kirkland. "Please, _monsieur._" He indicated the buttons on the shirt.

Kirkland reddened and dropped his hands so that Francis could unbutton the shirt. "I – I'm not accustomed to this sort of thing."

"Nothing to worry about, _monsieur._ I will handle everything and make sure you are _completely comfortable._" But although Francis had emphasized this phrase, accompanying it with a subtle flick of the tongue between his lips, M. Kirkland didn't react to it at all. He quickly undid the buttons – much less teasingly than he usually would have, because he was in such a frenzy – and allowed the backs of his fingers to caress M. Kirkland's chest as he pushed the shirt open and off the Brit's shoulders.

"I – I can do that," Kirkland stammered, stepping back and removing the shirt. His cheeks were still a faint shade of pink, and Francis was charmed.

"Let us take your measurements now," Francis suggested, to put him more at ease. He didn't want the client taking fright and leaving before that had been completed. That would definitely lead to awkward questions from M. Sébastien later.

But the client wouldn't take fright. Not really. Francis would soothe him and show him what French romance was all about.

And then, maybe M. Kirkland would go back to his hotel and show M. Vargas. Yes. Francis got a great deal of satisfaction from the idea that his techniques might be used to make the snappish brunet lose control. Oh, if only he could have persuaded M. Vargas to join them here in the back room – but this would do. He smiled and directed the Englishman to stand on the dais.

"Please remove the trousers as well." Francis bustled about to look professional so that the other blond would not feel too intensely scrutinized. "Do you mind if I remove my jacket, _monsieur_?" To represent the boutique he was required to dress in a suit every day, which ordinarily didn't bother him. But today he wanted to be as free as possible in his movements. "It is very warm in here." Oh, it certainly was.

"Please yourself," Kirkland said with a shrug, staring at the wall over Francis' head.

He did please himself. He removed the jacket and then the tie, unbuttoning his own shirt just a little, pulling the hem of it out of his trousers. When he turned to look, the young blond was standing on the dais in his pale green boxer briefs, staring at his hands as he twisted the fingers together. _"Magnifique," _Francis murmured to himself, stepping closer with the tape measure in his hand.

He decided to begin with the legitimate measurements of shoulder breadth, arm length, neck circumference. These passed quickly and easily; he made notations on his tablet PC after each one, humming and grinning as he worked, allowing himself to stroke M. Kirkland's beautiful pale skin – but not too overtly, _non._

Francis then measured his chest circumference, skating the tape measure over the Brit's nipples, listening to his sharp intake of breath. "Is that too tight?" he asked artlessly, gazing into the young man's wide green eyes.

"N-no, it's all right. Carry on." He spoke in a subdued tone, and his adorable face was red again. Francis smiled to reassure him and received a hesitant smile in return.

_Ohonhonhon._ Francis measured his waist, but rather than caressing him with the tape measure, he ghosted his fingers over the pale, soft skin. He felt, rather than saw, M. Kirkland's abdomen tense at the contact. "_Monsieur?"_

"Eh, no, what, it – it's – " M. Kirkland darted a nervous glance at the door to the dressing room and he fell silent.

And Francis noticed, through the fabric of the form-fitting boxers, that M. Kirkland was becoming very interested indeed. "Do not worry about interruption. The door is locked."

The Brit's face got even redder, if that were possible, and he began twisting his fingers together in front of himself, apparently trying to conceal his growing arousal.

Francis put a reassuring hand on his arm. "_Monsieur,_ please relax. The measurements will not take much longer." But then a thought occurred to him. "Unless you and M. Vargas have an appointment elsewhere?"

"What? No, no – we – oh, blast." Kirkland pursed his lips and looked away, scowling.

"Please relax," the couturier repeated. "I have only a few more measurements to take."

M. Kirkland nodded and returned to twisting his fingers in front of his lower body.

"Would you like some Perrier, _monsieur?_" Perhaps that would help him calm down?

"No, thanks, just – do what you need to do, please." He closed his eyes.

Francis knelt. "Very well. I just need to get outseam and inseam length." He skimmed the tape measure up the outside of M. Kirkland's leg, from ankle to waist, efficiently, before making a note of it on the tablet.

And now – the Frenchman smiled lazily as he slowly and teasingly and obviously drew the tape measure up the inside of the young blond's strong leg, sensing the warmth with his hand, sliding the end of the tape measure right into the join between M. Kirkland's leg and crotch.

"What?" Kirkland hissed, jumping back in a panic, then darting a glance at the door. "What the bloody hell are you doing?" he whispered.

"Oh, come now, M. Kirkland. Just having a little bit of fun?" Francis stood and walked closer to him. "Showing you how true the French reputation for romance is." Before the Englishman could answer, he continued, "I know you're interested, _monsieur,_" and drew his elegant finger up the front of the green briefs.

M. Kirkland jumped back again. "Will you stop that?" He kept his voice down, for which Francis was grateful, but –

"_Please_ allow me?" He came closer and put his hands on the Brit's upper arms, holding him. "You are so tantalizing, _monsieur._" Francis raised his eyebrows in inquiry; when Kirkland said nothing, he took this for acquiescence and smiled, stepping close enough to feel the heat emanating from the pale skin. "If you can persuade M. Vargas to join us, so much the better," Francis purred, leaning in to kiss the young blond on the side of his throat.

But this jolted M. Kirkland and he pulled away violently. "Get your hands off me." He scowled fiercely at Francis and headed to the chair where his own clothing lay. "I am not interested in any sort of – of sexual activity with you, you – you _bloody frog_!" he hissed.

Oh, my. Francis stood sadly on the dais, his own arousal forgotten, and watched M. Kirkland hurry into his clothing. "Do not speak of this," the Brit then growled at him.

"Turnabout is fair play, _monsieur_," Francis sighed.

"Don't worry. I have no intention of telling anyone I sank this low." He stalked to the locked room door and rattled the handle. "Come and unlock this damned door."

"_Oui, monsieur,_" Francis sighed again, plastering a smile onto his face, and unlocking the door.

…

_I felt under a lot of pressure for this one. Please forgive me if it is not everything you expected._

_Next: Ludwig's heart is racing (and not in a good way)._


	52. Bar Fight!

_I wasn't planning to include this, but since people are asking for it, here we go. To keep the chronology correct, "Ludwig's Heart is Racing" has to be postponed to the next chapter._

_Happy Father's Day to any readers who are also fathers._

…

**Bar Fight!**

Several days later, the boutique was in a frenzy. Now after hours, Francis changed into some fashionable casual clothing and headed to his favorite little corner bar to unwind a bit. He left his business clothes hanging by the back door; M. Sébastien's dry cleaners came by nightly to collect anything needing to be cleaned. They would be back on the rack in the morning, cleaned and pressed.

_Mon Dieu,_ he was exhausted. This fashion show was killing him. All of them. His employer always got a bit frenetic at this time of year, and took it out on his employees. Not that they were complaining about it. The exposure was very helpful for business, and Francis loved watching the show. It was a three-day extravaganza, and the boutique always closed for those three days. Ah, he'd stay focused; everything would be fine. He just needed to relax a bit.

This little bar was one of the first places Francis had begun to frequent when he'd moved to Paris many years ago. Something about it appealed to him, and he'd never quite bothered to pinpoint what it was. Just a cozy little bar in the middle of nowhere. No tourists, just locals, and nobody ever pestered anyone else. Just what he needed tonight.

It was more full than usual, but the locals weren't noisy patrons; men he knew nodded hesitantly to him (some of them also patrons of the boutique…some of them very delicious). Francis was wise enough not to make overtures to them outside work. He just nodded and passed wearily over to order a drink.

_Sacre bleu!_ The beautiful M. Kirkland was at his bar tonight! All of his tiredness fled immediately. Another chance. Another chance! He hurried to the bar, before M. Kirkland could walk away. "_Bon soir_, M. Kirkland," he said happily, wedging in right next to the young man.

"What? Oh, not you again. Bloody hell." Kirkland scooted away.

Why was the poor man so tense? He was here in a bar, right? Francis knew the rest rooms were clean. He could drag the uptight Englishman back there and help him relax, oh, yes.

"Don't pull away from me, _mon cher;_ I am only thinking of your own pleasure."

"I'm not interested in any pleasure with you!" the man stated hotly.

Francis loved fighting with his sex partners; it fired the blood. He smiled and reached around to cup M. Kirkland's delicious ass, that he'd not been able to get his hands on earlier. And oh, so firm – he squeezed –

But M. Kirkland, mindful of the crowd perhaps, scowled and backed away without a word, pressing himself up against the wall. Aha, an even better opening! Francis stepped closer and placed his palm on the unmistakable bulge in M. Kirkland's trousers, rubbing it up and down. He didn't care if anyone saw him; he now _needed_ to win over the anxious blond, needed to bring release to both of them, at this point. It had gone beyond arousal: now it was a matter of his pride.

Someone grabbed his arm and Francis turned to face him. "Oh, _bon soir_, M. Vargas," he tried to say, but Vargas bypassed the pleasantries and punched him in the nose. "_Omment_!" He cowered, protecting his nose with both hands, and Vargas punched him repeatedly in the gut. "_Monsieur!_" he wailed. Then: "_Aidez-moi!_" He didn't know whether anyone would indeed help, but he could ask. Ohh…

Francis let go of his nose to fight back and noticed the whole bar was in an uproar now. As he tried to land some punches on Vargas' chest, a chair flew past his alarmed face and splintered the bar mirror. People were laughing, yelling, and fighting, at this point, and it was all Francis could do to keep his mind on his opponent. He hit Vargas with one good punch to the chest, pushing him backwards, and then his mind said "Beating up a customer, Francis?"

_Sainte Marie. _He was probably doomed for that. Well, he might as well go down swinging. He lashed out at Vargas again, heedless of the carnage around them, but this punch was ineffectual. Vargas bent and head-butted him, knocking him onto the floor, and then sat on him, hitting his face; Francis, trying to defend himself, squirmed and kicked to get away but did not succeed.

_BAM._ A gunshot went off and Francis nearly wet himself. If people were shooting –

Vargas and everyone in the bar stopped fighting and looked around in a panic. Ah, Francis realized. It was only the barman, who had loosed a shot into the ceiling to stop the fight. The couturier began to breathe more easily, aided by the fact that Vargas got off his stomach. The blond decided to remain on the floor for now. _Merde,_ his body hurt.

He watched as Vargas spoke quietly with the barman, writing something down. Some patrons scurried out the door, but most of them stayed. The barman knew most of them by name, so fleeing wouldn't help. He'd get them for this, later.

Then Vargas – a rich boy like that such a dirty fighter? Francis would never have guessed – beckoned to M. Kirkland and two other men he didn't recognize, and the four of them left the bar. The weakened blond barely noted the handsome albino man accompanying Vargas, he was so disoriented.

Francis finally dared get up. He leaned against the bar and his friend the bartender came over. "What did you do? I saw that man started it, but something you did provoked him."

The blond just nodded sadly. "Give me a drink," he wheezed, holding his hand out, but the only unbroken bottle was sangria. He nodded; the bartender poured him some in a tumbler, which he drank quickly and felt coursing through his veins. Ah, if only he could get his hands on Vargas now, he'd positively throttle the man. Liquor was always a bracer.

He drank some more and held out the glass for a refill. "Do I have to pay the damages?" he asked feebly.

The bartender shook his head. "That guy beating you up was Lovino Vargas. He's going to cover it, he says."

Francis nodded again. "He probably will. He's" – although it galled him to admit it – "honorable."

Now that the drama seemed to be over, most of the patrons scuttled out of the bar; Francis and the bartender ignored them, finishing off the sangria in silence. When the bottle was empty, the bartender turned him out so he could close up for the night.

As Francis wandered home, quite tipsy and aching all over, his wandering mind turned to Spain, the home of the fruity wine. He loved Spain. Maybe he'd take a vacation when the fashion show was over. He needed to rethink his priorities.

…

_The only French I'm a bit uncertain about here is "Omment." The translator tells me this is "Ow!" but it seems a bit odd. But I'll leave it here until someone tells me otherwise._


	53. Ludwig's Heart is Racing

**Ludwig's Heart is Racing.**

"This is a beautiful car, isn't it, ve?" Feli caressed the steering wheel of the Ferrari as he and Ludwig rode the Eurotunnel Shuttle. "I'm so glad Lovi asked us to drive it back to Italy for him."

"It is beautiful, although I would have expected him to drive one of his own cars."

"Ve. His company's cars aren't street-legal, Ludwig. They're only approved for racing use."

"I see. Well, it was nice to get away for a while, wasn't it? It is a long time since I have been to London."

They received the signal to drive off the shuttle. Feli turned on the ignition and put the red Ferrari in gear. "Yes, ve. In fact I've never actually been there before. I'm glad we had Arthur to show us around a little. He's really good at that tour guide work, isn't he?"

"He is indeed." They drove off the shuttle. "Shall we stop for coffee before beginning the drive back home?"

"Great idea, Ludi! That will help me stay awake. Ve, let's find a place."

Before they got too far into France they located a coffee shop, purchasing drinks and some baked goods to tide them over for a while; the drive would take about fifteen hours, so they'd be stopping for two overnights on the way. "No cupholders in this car," Feli pointed out cheerfully. "Will you hold my cup, ve, while I drive?"

Ludwig smiled fondly at his friend. "Of course I will. I wouldn't make you drink it all at once just because this fabulous old car doesn't have cupholders."

Feli smiled and sipped the coffee before handing Ludwig the cup and starting up the car. "Are we ready?"

"I'm ready."

They navigated out of the parking lot, onto the small village street, and meandered along the country roads until they were able to reach the highway. "Ve, give me a sip before I get on the highway."

The blond handed over the cup. "Would you like a croissant?" He fished in the bag, pulling one out and beginning to eat it.

"Not yet," Feli said, handing the cup back. They eased onto the highway.

"Aieeee! Feliciano! What are you doing?" The croissant fell from Ludwig's mouth onto his lap. He dropped his own cup – thankfully it was now empty – and clutched the dashboard with one hand, desperately trying to keep his friend's cup from spilling hot coffee all over his pants. The car was now rocketing along in excess of 140 kilometers per hour! _"Feli!"_

"Ha ha ha ha!" Feli laughed maniacally, flooring it.

"Slow down! Slow down!" Ludwig could feel the blood drain from his face; his heart was pounding. "Feli, _please_, stop," he begged, but it had no effect. No one should ever drive like this! In desperation, trying to recover his fallen croissant, he whimpered, "What if you crash Lovino's car?"

And this worked. Feliciano immediately slowed to a respectable 110, a look of terror on his face. "Ve~! Oh, Ludwig, thank you for saying that." He looked quite contrite and calmly took the cup from the near-paralyzed blond, whose heart was still hammering. "Thank you so much. If I did crash this car, Lovi would kill me."

"Feliciano, if you crashed this car, at that speed, we would both be dead." Ludwig mopped his brow with a paper napkin from the coffee shop.

"_Vee-e-e~_," the younger man said quietly. "Not good at all."

Ludwig could only shake his head. "Please, Feli –"

"Don't worry any more, Ludwig, ve. I will absolutely not risk our lives in this car or any other."

"Thank you," Ludwig breathed. Whether to Feliciano or God, he did not know.

…

_Ha. Hope the title didn't scare you _too_ much._

_Next: Natalia has an unusual date._


	54. Natalia's Date

**Natalia's Date.**

She swiped on some bright fuchsia lipstick and grabbed her designer handbag, fleeing the house before Katia could spot her. For some reason – probably just her super-honed sense of caution – she didn't want her goof of a sister finding out that she was going on a date with Matthew's twin brother tonight. Hah.

Natalia wasn't even sure why she was going on this date. Alfred was a bit of an idiot. He had been polite at the Black Cat, but he hadn't seemed particularly interested in her as a person. Still, he was hot as hell, and she was looking forward to spending a date in the company of a good-looking man. She'd been working too hard lately, trying to learn the legal ins and outs of estate management so she could contest the will of her dear departed husband.

Riding in the taxi to the restaurant where she'd be meeting Alfred, she sighed. Maybe she could get him to help out. She snarled and punched the seat. If only Lovino hadn't been such a dick! She knew he had the connections.

Something about Lovino had been percolating away in the back of her brain all week, and it finally surfaced. That English guy – the punk fag – he'd acted awfully possessive towards Lovino. And they'd both been dressed that way, a way she had never once seen Lovino dressed. And this made her wonder, now, whether he preferred men these days, and maybe that was why her blandishments had failed to appeal to him.

She shook her head as the cab pulled up to the restaurant. Not Lovino. No. He was too fucking hot to be a homo.

Natalia got out and paid the driver, pushing Lovino out of her mind to make room for the golden, gorgeous, idiotic Alfred F. Jones.

…

"I'm having a really nice time with you, Natalia," Alfred said as they left the restaurant. "I've never been out with a woman before."

Uh? Natalia blinked. "How old are you?" she asked in surprise. How could a man go that long without –

"Oh, it's not that. I – I'm actually gay," he confessed in a quiet tone, reminding her of his brother Matthew.

"You? Oh, _Alfred_," she sighed, partially for the dramatic value, and partially because she really was disappointed. She hadn't been with a virile man in an extremely long time. Her dead husband had been seventy-four when they'd married. She sighed again.

And then Natalia smirked to herself. "So you've never slept with a woman?" she asked. Hah, if only she could take this big dumb hunk of American masculinity and turn him straight!

"No, never. In fact," he told her, pushing his glasses up his nose, "until I met you there was never any woman that interested me. Physically, I mean."

"Does that mean that I do interest you?" She ran a black-lacquered nail up and down his tie, and watched him gulp.

Of course she could turn him straight.

"Yes, you do interest me very much," he murmured, leaning forward to kiss her. "I don't know why, but –"

Natalia allowed him to kiss her passionately on the sidewalk. In fact she herself was getting a little bothered. But, no! She couldn't take him back to her place. Not with Katia there. "I've never kissed a gay man before."

"Was it good?" he grinned.

Yep. He was an idiot. But that one kiss had gotten all sorts of things flowing inside Natalia, and she wanted him. "Take me back to your place," she suggested. "We can play together, and – and maybe we'll both learn something new?" She winked.

Within seconds they were pressed together in the back of a taxi, feverishly kissing one another. "Hey," the cabbie growled. "Save it for later."

"Ha ha ha!" Alfred laughed, looking – yes, she had to admit it – adorable. Well, maybe tonight would be sexy, and if not, it would probably be fun. Natalia smiled and began running her hand up and down his thigh, thinking of all the creative ways she knew to pleasure a man.

And after they were done, she'd make him agree to help with the lawsuit.

…

_Next: A registered partnership._


	55. A Registered Partnership

_I bet you thought I'd forgotten about these two. _

…

**A Registered Partnership.**

"This was a lovely weekend." The brunet stretched and rolled over to hold his lover close. "So nice and relaxing."

"Mm, yes. I'm always so busy, but I'm glad we had a little time to spend alone together. These mini vacations are very soothing."

"Should we order room service?"

"Oh. It's very expensive, isn't it?"

"Please allow me to treat? I do like to save money, but sometimes it's worth a little extra expenditure."

"Then, yes. Thanks, Roderich." Vash slipped out of bed to put some clothes on and brought the menu over for his friend.

Roderich phoned and placed the order before rolling lazily out of bed.

…

When the food came, the two of them sat to eat at the hotel room's little table. "Vash, there's something I've been meaning to ask you," Roderich began.

"Sure, what is it?" The blond was focused on his coffee and didn't look up.

Roderich didn't speak until Vash drank and set the cup down. "Will you marry me?"

Vash sprayed his coffee all over the table and Roderich. "Oh, you are _so romantic_," the Austrian complained, mopping himself up with a napkin. "I've been trying to work up my nerve to propose for an entire _year_ and this is what happens?"

"I'm so terribly sorry," Vash said, in a very plaintive voice. "Roderich, I had no idea."

"I know you didn't," from behind the napkin. "I retract my proposal."

_"What?"_

"If this is the kind of treatment I'm going to get –" He finally took the napkin away, wiping his glasses with it, and smiled at Vash. "Oh, please, Vash, you really think I'd retract? After I finally had the – the balls to propose?"

Vash just stared at him. He had never heard Roderich use such a coarse word as "balls" before in his life! Well, except in physical education class.

"Hello?" the brunet finally said, waving the soaked napkin in Vash's face. "Are you paralyzed or something?"

"Uh. This is all so sudden."

"It is not! We've been dating for such a long time, and you know how much I care about you. Registered partnerships are legal in both Switzerland and Austria, so we have nothing to worry about. Are you going to say yes or not?" Now clean, he delicately sipped his coffee, acting a bit peeved.

"This is possibly the strangest day of my life."

"It's going to get even stranger if you don't give me a straight answer. Stop playing coy."

"Well – well – all right! I'll marry you!"

Roderich finally looked up and laughed. Vash could feel that his face was flaming red all the way to the ears, and he was fidgeting and looking all around the room, anywhere except at Roderich himself.

"Okay," the Austrian said, returning to his meal.

"'Okay'? That's all you have to say?"

"You're not exactly the pinnacle of romance right now either, you know." Roderich sniffed. "When you're ready to discuss this calmly, like adults, let me know, and I'll be romantic again." He picked up a croissant and broke it apart, reaching for the butter.

"I – you – we –"

"Calm down, please," Roderich told him, now eating the buttered croissant. "Drink some coffee."

Vash drank some coffee. "Why would I want to marry you?"

Now Roderich was flummoxed. "What? Why would you not? I'm artistic, educated, good-looking – " He preened modestly.

"That wasn't actually my point. I meant, why bother marrying? Why not just keep living together?" He really couldn't see the appeal of a registered partnership.

"Because I _looooooove you~,_" Roderich crooned, in the most fake tone Vash had ever heard him use.

"Are you drunk?"

Roderich choked on his croissant. "How could I be drunk? We just got out of bed!"

"Just checking."

"Well?" the brunet asked after another minute.

"Well what? You said you wanted to wait until I was calm, and I'm not." Vash threw his napkin down on the table. He almost wished he were armed; the comfort of fiddling with a gun would calm him down a lot. He stood up and began to pace in the little hotel room. "You seriously want to do this?"

He then felt Roderich slip his arms around him from behind. "Vash…I do love you. I have wanted you since the first day I ever saw you. I know that your heart is true," he murmured, now stroking the blond hair, "but I want the entire world to know how much I care for you. And I – I had hoped you felt the same way." He let go of his boyfriend and stepped back.

But Vash knew what to do, now. He turned around and kissed Roderich point-blank. "I love you, too," he said softly, "as if you didn't actually know that. So, yes. I am happy to commit to you for the rest of our lives, by a registered partnership, if it will please you so. But you know I could never look at anyone else."

"I know," Roderich said, smiling and embracing him again. "But still."

They shared a kiss, and then nestled quietly together. "Aren't you going to get me an engagement ring?" Vash asked with humor in his voice.

"You are the most impossible –"

But the blond silenced him with another kiss.

"Fine," Roderich gasped, when they finally broke apart. "I'll get you a big fat diamond."

"Don't bother." Vash dragged him over to the bed. "You're the brightest diamond in my world."

As they sank back onto the mattress, the brunet sighed, "Oh, Vash. I knew you could be romantic if you put your mind to it."

"Shut up."

…

_Next: Made for each other._


	56. Made for Each Other

**Made For Each Other.**

He was actually nervous, and didn't know why.

After his ignoble dismissal from M. Sébastien's boutique, Francis had puttered around Paris for a while, halfheartedly toying with the idea of opening his own boutique, but not savvy enough about the business end of things to feel comfortable with it. He had more than enough money in savings to live for a few months, if he pared back a little. He wasn't too worried about employment. He could get references from a lot of M. Sébastien's customers, and he had the flair to get employed anywhere. He simply would not make the same mistakes he'd made at the Parisian boutique, that's all.

And M. Vargas' suggestion of going to a certain little café in Florence? Well, the Italian hadn't even said why, but the sheer not-knowing of it had at first intrigued Francis, and then begun to obsess him. Maybe there was something wonderful there. Someone wonderful.

In his more sober moments he did wonder why M. Vargas would have given him a tip like that, right after having him fired, but, _merde_! You only live once. Florence was not that far, and a low-key midweek trip would be very nice at this early summer time of year. He would be risking nothing.

But he was nervous!

Francis spent his entire first day wandering around the city, relaxing, and enjoying it quite a bit. He'd never been there before. It was similar to France, and yet quite different. Intriguing.

But in the back of his mind he knew he was only seeking delaying tactics. Perhaps someone would be waiting at this café? Someone to hurt him, to make up for what he had done to M. Kirkland? But no. M. Vargas might be _un b__â__tard, _but not that bad. And anyway, how would anyone know he would be here, on this day? He hadn't told anyone.

Random worries and thoughts like this kept him occupied during that entire first day, and when the sun began to go down, he reluctantly decided there was no time to go to the café. He went back to his little hotel room and spent the evening relaxing with some in-room dirty movies, fantasizing about M. Kirkland and M. Vargas together with him in a big bed somewhere. _Ohonhonhonhon._

By the time he fell asleep he was _exhausted._

…

In the morning Francis spruced up, making sure his beard stubble wasn't too long and unkempt, dressing in one of his eye-catching, yet casual, outfits, featuring a bright blue shirt that matched his eyes. He swept his long blond hair back artistically and sashayed out into the city. Ah, there was no sense in delaying! He'd go there, and probably wouldn't even grasp what M. Vargas had been talking about. A café au lait would be quite nice, and then another day of sightseeing. Perhaps he'd stop by the famous Duomo later.

Francis examined the outside of the café. Nothing special. No indicators of what M. Vargas might have been driving at.

Then he walked inside. There were some customers here and there, seated and talking, two people in line, and a young woman behind the counter. Oh? She was very young. But, M. Vargas, why? he wondered. If the Italian knew he preferred men, why would he send him to this cute little girl? As a punishment?

But he smiled seductively as he reached the cash register. "_Buon giorno_," he told her, in his deep voice, in his foreign accent, just to see what happened.

A loud clatter came from behind her. Everyone in the café glanced around to see –

_Dieu dans la ciel!_ Francis was dumbstruck. This man was the most beautiful man he'd ever seen in his entire life. Twinkling green eyes (he pushed the memory of M. Kirkland's eyes right out of his mind), soft, fluffy dark brown hair, and from a slack jaw to a brilliant smile in a fraction of a second. The man picked up his now-empty pastry tray, still holding Francis' eyes, still smiling, and walked all over the fallen macaroons to get to the counter.

"Never mind about the macaroons," he vaguely told the female barista, who had stooped to clean them up. "Serve the next customer." His Spanish accent was deeply alluring. Why was a Spaniard working in an Italian café? Francis wondered.

The girl nodded and turned to the customer behind Francis.

"Welcome to my little café," the Spaniard said breathily. "I hope I can make your visit worthwhile."

"I am already delighted to be here," Francis smiled, watching the other man's eyebrows raise fractionally. "Will you join me for a cup of coffee?"

"_S__ì!"_ He took Francis' drink order and gestured towards a tiny table in the back of the room.

Francis sat, waiting for the man to come sit, and said a brief prayer of thanksgiving:

_Merci, M. Vargas!_

…

_I am coming to the end of "Life Sketches." Maybe 4 more chapters. I can get all the loose ends romantically tied up by that point (except Feli and Ludwig who are pretty much business as usual from here on out). Once that's done, I'm going to mark this one complete, but once in a while we'll encounter these people in "Love and Art," which I have no real end plans for._

_Who's left to finish? Natalia, Alfred – coming up next, then Matthew & Katia, followed by one final Francis/Antonio chapter and maybe a whopper final chapter with all the Washington-based characters. Gilbert and Mathias won't appear in this story anymore because their story will continue in "Love and Art," though Gil (and Feliks) would appear in the final chapter._

_So, up next: The heart of a hero._


	57. The Heart of a Hero

_Thanks to Ceilo for helping me thrash out some of this._

...

**The Heart of a Hero.**

Natalia sat dreamily outside the courtroom, waiting for the judge's final decision about the estate. She was exceedingly optimistic. Last year, she'd tried vamping the judge, dropping innuendo into her conversation to lure him on and make him look favorably on her case. She hadn't gotten very far with that approach.

This was a different judge. And Natalia hadn't felt she needed to try anything like that this time, because she had all her legal ducks in a row. Yes, she was proud of herself for getting this far. She'd dressed somberly, but still with fashionable flair, and behaved quite professionally in the courtroom. This new judge had treated her seriously. She felt like cheering.

As she waited, her mind drifted, as it almost always did these days, to Alfred. He'd astonished her with all the help he'd provided, researching legal precedents, looking up information about the judge and that man's no-nonsense manner – all sorts of things to help Natalia focus and win her lawsuit. She'd been quite surprised. He hadn't seemed like he could focus that well.

In the last month, while they'd been doing all this work together, a few things had stood out.

One: Alfred had confessed, in an amazed tone, that he must have been bisexual all his life and never known it. Well, she hadn't turned him completely straight, but who cared? She was happy to have had a fulfilling sexual relationship with him as well as the, well, call it a legal partnership.

Two: Natalia had begun to wonder about his personal life. He never went to a job, and he was always free to help her or take her out, no matter when she called. He had a nice, but not overly fancy, apartment. And he was articulate and well-groomed, too. So she wondered if he was maybe an eccentric millionaire that was helping her out, just for kicks.

But there had been a couple of times when he'd sheepishly confessed he was broke, and Natalia was expert enough at reading people to know he wasn't just putting on an act. On those days, they'd gotten Chinese takeout and eaten it on park benches, or gone for pizza, laughing and joking and not bothering about the lawsuit at all.

If only she knew more about his mousy brother! But Katia would never talk about Matthew's work, and didn't talk about his personal life much, either. Those two spent all their time together, outside the house, these days. Her sister had made it a point to go out early this morning and stay out all day, afraid to come home in case Natalia had lost the lawsuit. Last time, Natalia had broken all the dishes…and left the mess for Katia to clean up. She chuckled a little now, remembering that.

But back to Alfred. Yes, Alfred F. Jones definitely intrigued her, but…if she won the lawsuit, she'd dump him; she'd already made up her mind about that. She didn't need some broke sponge clinging to her skirts. With the money, she could do better; maybe she could win Lovino back. He had a shitload of money, almost as much as Natalia would have if she won the suit. Even if he was gay now, which she still hadn't been able to determine, she could probably turn him back.

Her thoughts almost automatically turned from Lovino to Alfred. With remarkable insight Alfred had pointed out that the judge might look askance at a young woman and man together, trying to pillage the dead guy's estate, and he'd offered to wait in the lobby until she was finished. Because, he'd said, he did want to support her.

It'd be tough to say goodbye to him. She wasn't looking forward to that at all. Natalia kept pushing that scene out of her mind, trying to focus on the judge and what he might say.

"Ma'am?" The junior clerk's voice broke into her reverie and she stood up with a pleasant smile, deciding to let the "ma'am" slide for now. "Please come in. The judge is ready for you."

Natalia nodded and followed.

…

She walked sedately to the lobby, trying to put on an appropriate expression, but when she saw Alfred look up quizzically, her face split into an enormous grin. He looked like he was going to whoop out loud, but then seemed to recollect himself.

Natalia walked to him and took his arm. "Will you walk with me, Mr. Jones?" she asked flirtatiously.

"I will do whatever you please," was his simple answer.

…

"Why don't we go back to my place?" she suggested after an elegant but early dinner (her treat). Maybe it would be better to break up in the morning. They could have one last night of fun together.

"You've never invited me over," he said, surprised. "I can tell this is a big day for you! Sure, let's."

Well, she'd never invited him over because she still didn't want Katia to know she was dating Matthew's twin! If they got through tonight, it wouldn't matter any more. Though she did now wonder whether Alfred might take some kind of revenge. If he knew he could get to her through Katia –

Never mind about all that, she told herself, and they headed back to her place.

…

Katia was still not home. "I'm so sticky and tired," Natalia said, stretching. "Would you like to take a bath with me? We have an enormous bathtub."

Alfred's eyes lit up. "I would love it! In fact, you just relax in the tub, and I'll wash you and pamper you first."

"And then we can have a little fun together," she grinned in acknowledgement. "Yes. Come upstairs."

Once in the bathroom, Natalia let him undress her; when she felt the cool air on her skin she shivered. Alfred took the clips out of her hair and it tumbled all down her back. "I love your hair," he told her, lifting a lock and kissing the ends.

She countered with "You're wearing too many clothes."

"Will you undress me?" he asked shyly. So she did; she made it good and sweet, and she was almost regretting her decision to split up with him. But they'd never really said they were dating exclusively, so maybe he wouldn't care. Maybe he was dating other people anyway, but she'd been too busy with the lawsuit to bother.

The tub was full by now, so after a bit of teasing, Natalia stepped in and lay back. Naked Alfred, kneeling outside the tub, took the soap and a washrag and lathered it up before beginning to wash her arms, slowly and carefully. She felt the reassuring warmth of the water and the gentle touch of Alfred's hand on her skin and finally began to relax. It was all over! She'd won!

Why, then, did she feel so hollow?

Alfred soaped up his hands and began washing her upper body, teasing her with his thumbs, smiling. "Sexy girl."

Before either of them could speak further, the bathroom door opened and argh, stupid Katia came in, reading the mail! "Don't you ever knock?" Natalia barked. Alfred froze.

Katia looked at the two of them; her eyes widened and filled with tears, and she dropped the mail, yelling "Oh!" She ran out of the bathroom, not troubling to shut the door. Seconds later they heard the slam of her bedroom door, and Natalia started laughing.

"What's so funny?" Alfred asked. "That was your sister?"

"Ha, yes! She's dating your twin brother! She probably thought he was in here fooling around with me." Natalia continued to laugh.

"Mattie's girl?" Alfred took his hands off her body and out of the bath water. "But that's not right. We should go explain."

Natalia was still laughing. "Oh, don't worry about it. Let her suffer."

Alfred frowned at her and stood up, reaching for a towel. "Natalia, that's – not very nice. Even if she wasn't dating Matt. I can't let her sit there and misunderstand this." He began to dry off.

"You're serious? Ignore her. She's just a mouse."

"Well, Mattie's a mouse, too, but I don't want him to be sad, and he will be, if he finds out we hurt his girlfriend. You can wait here. I'll go talk to her. I'll come back when I'm done." He slipped on his pants and shirt, leaving his socks and underwear on the floor, and left the bathroom.

What the fuck? Natalia was extremely puzzled. This was a more thoughtful side of Alfred, a side she'd never seen, never even suspected was there. Suddenly burning with curiosity, she got out of the tub and wrapped herself in a fluffy towel before going to eavesdrop outside Katia's room.

The door was slightly ajar, but she could hear them clearly. "Twin brother? You expect me to believe that?" Katia was sobbing outright.

"You may choose not to believe it, but it's true."

"You never said you had a _twin! _And you said your brother was _gay!_ You can't be his brother. You were – you –"

Natalia heard Alfred clear his throat. "Well, I – uh, well, I was gay. Until I met your sister."

"Ha, that shark?" Katia threw something against the wall and it broke.

"Please, miss. I – I don't even know your name! I don't want you to be hurting, and I don't want my brother to be upset, either. I'm very sorry that Natalia and I startled you. I guess she was maybe embarrassed to introduce us before. I know she thinks I'm, well, she doesn't think I'm classy enough for her. But I always did my best to help her."

Natalia, in the hallway, bit her lip. It was impossible, _impossible_ that Alfred could be like this! All he ever wanted to do was fool around and party.

Well. He'd spent a hell of a lot of his personal time helping her, it's true.

"Natalia is not an easy person," Katia said, her sobs beginning to settle. "You – you really are Matthew's twin?"

"I tell you what," Alfred said, "why don't you call him? Obviously if he answers his phone, then I'm not him."

Natalia could almost imagine the beaming, self-satisfied grin he'd be wearing after a statement like that. A single tear fell and she blotted it away with the corner of her towel.

Katia must have dialed. "Matthew? Oh. No, I just – I missed you, and wanted to say goodnight…Yes…I will see you tomorrow, then?...Oh, I love surprises. Good! I'll meet you at your coffee shop. Good night!"

There was a pause. "He was there," Katia said, somewhat unnecessarily.

Alfred's voice was still very earnest. "I hope you believe me now. I really don't want to make anyone sad."

"I – I don't even know your name," Katia's wobbly voice said.

"Oh! Sorry. I'm Alfred F. Jones. What's your name?"

"She didn't even tell you my _name_? Grr. My name is Katia."

"I'm pleased to meet you, Katia."

Natalia realized Alfred was going to come out of the room and find her there – or worse, they'd come out of the room together – so she scurried back to the bathroom. Somehow the tub didn't seem as inviting any more. She put her bathrobe on and went quietly down to the living room.

A little while later, Alfred came down, fully-dressed. "Are you all right?" he asked in concern, coming to take her hands.

She looked at this young man. Really looked at him, beyond the surface of good looks and boyish humor. And something awoke inside Natalia, something that had been dormant for many years. She let go of his hands and slipped her arms around his neck, beginning to cry. "I'm perfectly all right, Alfred. Hold me," she begged.

"As long as you want me to," he whispered, pulling her onto his lap.

As she felt his strong arms supporting her, she began to relax, and realized that the lawsuit, the money, none of it meant anything anymore. The only thing that mattered was Alfred.

…

_Next: Katia is rendered speechless (multiple times)._


	58. Katia is Surprised

**Katia is Surprised.**

"I have a little surprise for you, too," she told Matthew, blushing, as they walked out of an unfamiliar coffee shop with their maple drinks. Katia was wearing a short, summery dress that buttoned down the front, and little flat sandals. Perfect for this balmy summer evening.

She wondered why they were down here on M Street. They usually spent their time in and around Arlington, where they both lived. Katia had managed to get her dog duties done early today so that she could go see Matthew and find out what the surprise was. She really did love surprises!

He shyly took her free hand as they walked. She squeezed it. _Her_ surprise was in the forefront of her mind with every step she took.

"Have you ever been in here?" he asked her, gesturing to a storefront.

Katia looked up. Galleria Piccola? "No. It's an art gallery?"

"Yes. Do you mind if we go inside?"

"Not at all. I love to look at nice artworks."

Matthew held the door for her and they went inside. Her attention was caught by a great big landscape opposite the front door, so she didn't notice her boyfriend locking the front door, closing the blinds, or hastily gesturing an employee towards the back door. Nor did she hear that back door open and close as the employee left.

"This is beautiful," she breathed. "I have absolutely no art talent at all, so something like this takes my breath away."

"But you have so many other talents, Katia," he said, coming closer and slipping an arm around her waist. "You have the wonderful talent of being so lovable."

She peeked at him and he was blushing; he pushed his glasses up his nose. "Plus all your other talents, with the dogs, and putting up with your sister, and all that sort of thing. You're perfect, even without art talent." He leaned forward and kissed her.

Katia smiled and kissed back, but then, aware of the public place, stopped; she didn't want to get caught kissing in the middle of an art gallery! "Let's look at the rest of the art," she suggested.

"All right."

She and Matthew wandered around the gallery, and really, almost everything on display was striking. "This gallery is almost like a museum! It's full of such beautiful things." She examined a price tag. "And you can tell by the prices," she laughed. "Too much."

"Come to the front again," he suggested, leading her to the sleek chrome-and-glass desk in the reception area.

When they'd gotten to the front it finally occurred to her that they hadn't seen a single employee yet. But before she could comment on this, Matthew took her hands. "Katia – I'm glad we can be alone here in this art gallery that you like. Be-because I have a special question for you."

Katia's mind was still on the lack of employees, but she tried to focus. "Okay. What is it?"

He let out a short laugh. "I – you – oh, Katia, I love you. Will you marry me?" He pulled a ring box out of his jacket pocket.

"Wh-_what?_" Katia felt her face burning and pressed her palms against her cheeks. "You – you want to marry me?" Tears rose and spilled, and Matthew embraced her. "Oh, Matthew, yes, yes, _yes!_" She held on tight, laughing and crying, and when he began kissing her tears away, she leaned back onto the desk and kissed back with great fervor. "Oh!" she suddenly said. "We shouldn't be doing this in here." She pulled away and looked around nervously, wiping her eyes.

Instead of responding with a comment, Matthew opened the ring box and displayed the ring, a tasteful princess-cut diamond flanked by two pale blue trilliant-cut stones. "I picked the blue diamonds to match your eyes," he said somewhat breathlessly, but with a big smile on his face. "I hope it fits."

Katia's eyes felt like they would fall from her head. "It's too much, Matthew. It's too much for someone like me."

"Nonsense," he told her quietly. "Nothing is too much for someone like you. Try it on."

With shaking hands she slipped the ring onto her finger. "It's a little big," she noted, watching the heavy stones swivel around to hang from the bottom of her hand.

"That's all right. It's easy to resize platinum." He kissed her again. "I'm so glad you said yes."

"I've been in love with you for a long time," she confessed. And then the lack of employees in this art gallery bothered her again and she said so. "I'm worried someone may find us. It's a lovely place to have gotten engaged, though."

Matthew cupped her cheek. "Don't worry. This was not my only surprise. Please sit down on the desk?"

"What?" But she did as he'd said.

He took her hands again, smiling at the sight of the ring on her finger. "You know that I've never told you what I do for a living. This – this gallery is a business I own."

Her eyes widened again and she smiled. "You are an art collector. I should have guessed. You have so much poetry in you."

He cleared his throat and blushed. "I'm – I'm not actually an art collector," he admitted. "I bought the gallery when it came up for sale because – because I knew you liked fine art; we had spent so much time at the Smithsonian together, and I thought it would be a place that you might like. But I've been too nervous to tell you about it."

"Why? Is it such a big deal? You should know I wouldn't have a problem with anything you do."

Matthew hugged her. "I know. I count on it." He straightened and fiddled with his tie a little. "But, you see, this is only a tiny little business, for me. A fun business."

She gave him a quizzical look, and with a deep breath he explained to her about his maple farms and his contract with Starbucks.

"So _that's_ why you wear maple leaf socks," she laughed, and then blushed, remembering the surprise she had for him. "I thought it was because your parents lived in Canada."

"You see, Katia? This is exactly why I love you," Matthew told her, smiling softly. "If I told someone like your sister about this she'd be asking about my net profit and loss, and my growth factor, and things like that, but you, you thought of my socks."

Now she felt silly. "Oh, yes. I suppose being a supplier to Starbucks is a pretty big deal." She smiled hesitantly and made up her mind about something right on the spot. "But it doesn't matter. I always thought you were a bank teller or something."

Matthew chuckled. "Doesn't matter, you're right."

"Is that your last surprise? Proposal, art gallery, maple stuff?" Katia was so happy that she liked the taste of maple!

"Yes! What more did you expect?" The two of them laughed together before she got off the desk.

"Are we alone here?"

"Yes. The doors are locked, the gallery is closed for the day, and I sent my manager home when we got here. Why?"

"I told you I had a surprise for you, too?"

Matthew nodded.

"Undress me," she said boldly, stepping closer.

"What? Here?"

"Please?" she whispered in a meek little voice. "Wouldn't it be – be fun to make love in here?"

Well, they were both blushing furiously and no surprise. But Matthew straightened up and reached out to begin undoing the buttons on her dress. "Did you – did you really mean, uh, 'make love,' uh, you know –?" he asked delicately. "Or did you just mean fool around?"

But then he got the last button open and pushed the sides of the dress apart, and when he saw what she was wearing he began giggling and so did Katia. "Do you like them?"

"Maple leaf boxers! You really are the perfect woman," he laughed, pulling her closer. "We are going to have a wonderful life together."

"Yes," she breathed, feeling his lips on hers. "Oh, yes."

…

_Next: What you can accomplish in bed._

_I'd like to thank everyone for sticking with me on this one. Many, many times I wished I hadn't even started it. I lost interest so much, but I'm closure-oriented, so, having started, I had to finish. I'm not going to do the "big scene in Washington" chapter, so the next one (Antonio and Francis) will be the last chapter. I'm going to leave Natalia and Alfred hanging, but they'll probably crop up in "Love and Art" once in a while._


	59. What You Can Accomplish in Bed

**What You Can Accomplish in Bed.**

Antonio snuggled up to Francis in his little bed. "I really like you, Francis," he said, stroking the blond hair. "I wish you didn't have to go back to Paris."

Francis smiled at him and the Spaniard felt his heart flip over – as it had done so many times in the past three days. The Frenchman was elegant, cultured, fun and sexy – Antonio couldn't believe his good luck.

But it wasn't really good luck. He doubted they'd be able to have a long-distance relationship. Wondered whether Francis would even want to. He sighed.

"Don't sigh, _cher_ Antonio. Would you really want me to stay?"

The green eyes widened. "Of course, _cari__ñ__o_, but do you not have work – a family – a life in Paris?"

Francis' smile faded. "I should probably be honest with you," he said quietly. "I was – ah – released from employment for…" He seemed too shy to say it, but knowing the blond as well as he already did, Antonio could make a guess.

"For fooling around?" He grinned. "But you are so seductive, I can understand it."

The smile returned. "You are so good to me, _mon cher._ Yes. That is what happened. I tried to seduce a young English customer with a very jealous employer. The employer made certain I would lose my job."

Antonio blinked. No, it couldn't be that _bastardo ingles. _And he didn't want to think about those men, anyway, not while he had the delicious Francis in his bed. "What sort of work do you do?" he asked, snuggling closer.

He listened as Francis detailed his lifelong obsession with fashion, his almost sixth sense for it, and his flair with design. "And so I must start again the long search for employment. I do not know whether M. Sébastien might have me blackballed from other Parisian design houses."

"It sounds like you would be talented enough to found your own design house."

"_Oui." _He stroked Antonio's hair softly. "I am. I know that I am. But I know nothing about running a business, only how to make men look fabulous."

"If you are any indication, all of your clients must be stunning."

"They are." Francis beamed.

The two shared some more quiet kisses. Antonio slipped into a little daydream, thankful for whatever forces had brought the Frenchman to his café, no matter how fleeting their relationship might be. Francis understood about his work ethic, and had never derided him for being "just a barista," as some of his wicked little Italian rich boys had done. "It is too bad you don't live in Florence," he then mused. "I know all the legal ins and outs of business here, because of opening my little café."

"Florence is a beautiful city," Francis agreed.

"You should move here and I'll help you open a design house." Antonio smiled lazily and stretched. What a nice daydream. "Then I would look fabulous too."

"Sweet Antonio, you are already beyond fabulous." Francis kissed him. "And I couldn't impose upon you like that. You're such a busy man. In fact we should get some sleep, so that you can get up and get to the café on time tomorrow."

"Not just yet," the Spaniard said, pulling Francis closer.

…

In the morning they parted with a kiss outside the cafe. "I will come back and see you soon, _mon cher_."

"You know that I will be waiting. _Bon voyage!_" Antonio replied playfully.

"I didn't know you spoke French!"

"_Bon voyage_ is about the extent of it," he admitted with a wry grin. "Do think about what I said. I'll help in any way I can." They kissed again. "Call me, or email, but come back to me soon."

"_Je le ferai,_ Antonio. Stay well."

…

_Well, I was going to make this a chapter where Antonio seriously offers to help Francis open a Florentine boutique, and Francis agrees, but that seemed much too hasty considering they've only known each other a few days. Maybe I'll write that as an epilogue to this story after a while._

_Thanks for continuing to support my efforts. I appreciate all of you who read my stories._


	60. The Price of Pleasure

_I apologize. I was in such a hurry to close this story out that I really did a disservice by cutting Antonio and Francis off at the knees (as it were). I'm going to write until they're settled, maybe three more chapters, because it's highly unlikely that our heroes will encounter them again in "Love & Art." Sorry._

_Besides, I'm feeling bad for Antonio, because in "Love in the Modern World" Romano just kicked him in the balls._

…

**The Price of Pleasure.**

Francis started out his morning in a fit of anger, first picking up a café au lait from a patisserie and then storming down the Left Bank, just as irate as he'd been the previous day. Full of purpose, yesterday he had artfully dressed himself, bearing a print copy of his résumé and his portfolio to one of the largest Parisian fashion houses for men. He'd been summarily turned away, with an explanation that there were no openings at this time.

_Bien._ That did happen sometimes. Undaunted, he'd gone to a small, struggling house that he'd been following in the fashion news. The owner had marketing flair, but not enough style. Francis knew he could help this good house become great.

And yet this owner had turned him away almost without speaking to him. Francis had been on the point of leaving to seek another establishment when he'd turned to ask the man why.

M. Sébastien's influence had kicked him in the teeth once again. Word of Francis' indiscretions with the clients had gotten around, and this owner was reasonably certain that no Parisian house would employ the blond. Thanking him professionally, Francis had left the area before allowing his rage to escalate. _Merde!_ After he'd done so much for M. Sébastien!

And this morning he'd gotten as far as the patisserie before that rage percolated through his veneer of calm again. Stalking down the street, he wildly wondered whether he should have tried seducing M. Sébastien! At least he might still have a job.

Francis was now reasonably certain that he was unemployable in Paris, at least in a design house. Oh, he could get other work – a department store, a ready-to-wear boutique – but his love was design, and he wanted to continue with that.

His anger began to dissipate as he wandered, focusing on alternatives. His savings account was almost depleted. What could he do?

London was full of famous houses. He could shake them up, there. Then he shook his hair out. No. He did not want to move to London.

Thinking of London made him think of M. Kirkland, the only British man he'd recently met; from there, of course, his thoughts turned to M. Vargas, and then quickly to Antonio. Francis sighed with a grin. Antonio was a fabulous man, no doubt about it. He was inventive and sexual and yet still maintained a happy demeanor and a strong work ethic.

Francis' pacing slowed even further; a faint, fond smile settled onto his face. He thought about the last time he'd gone to see Antonio, and the sweet, yet powerful, time they'd spent together. He'd been to Florence four times since they'd met, and every time, he found himself falling just a little bit harder for his intense Spaniard.

All four times, Antonio had suggested he move to Florence and found a new design house.

And all four times, Francis had felt that this was too big a step for him, requiring too much work, and that he'd do better to stay in Paris.

But now…faced with these rejections, and the very real likelihood of being unemployable here, Francis began to wonder just what might be involved in setting up a design house. Oh, he knew what kind of things would need to be done for the design part. Where to get fabrics. What to look for in employees. And of course he was nonpareil at the design process itself. No, he'd need Antonio's retail knowledge, his knowledge of Florentine business law. And he'd need to find someone to help him with – with legal things, he supposed, properly hiring people...and of course finding some way to finance this.

Money. That was always a problem, _non?_

Well, he could try. Yes. The spring returned to his step, and he headed back to his apartment to pack. He'd surprise Antonio tomorrow, and have a serious talk with him.

_Oui._

…

_Next up: The price of fashion._


	61. The Price of Fashion

**The Price of Fashion.**

"Francis, Francis!" Antonio capered with joy when he saw the Frenchman walk into the café with no advance notice. He slipped out from behind the counter and embraced the blond right in the middle of the room; Francis laughed in glee and kissed him fondly. "I have missed you so, _cari__ñ__o._ Why didn't you tell me you were coming back?" The Spaniard stepped back to appraise his lover. The café would be closing for the night in just half an hour, and Antonio was much more excited about his evening than he'd been five minutes ago.

"I wanted to surprise you, of course," Francis beamed. "I'm glad you're happy to see me."

"How long can you stay? All weekend?"

"Longer, if you like. I want to talk to you, _mon cher_, about your offer of help."

Antonio's eyes widened. "I will be more than delighted. Sit and relax; I will make you a café au lait."

"_Merci_."

But Antonio just stood smiling in the center of the café for a moment, until Francis sat down. How exciting! He wondered what had happened to change his lover's mind.

Soon the drink was ready and he took it to the little table. There were no other customers this late in the day. "I have something to show you. I think it will amuse you," Antonio told him. "Just drink; I'll bring it out." He hurried to the back room and rummaged around in a shipping carton for something, which he brought to show Francis.

"See?" he said, flourishing a t-shirt. "Isn't it funny?"

Francis looked at the t-shirt, and then he looked at Antonio.

And he looked back at the t-shirt, and then at Antonio.

The barista grew a little nervous. "What is the matter? Oh, maybe you don't know the story. A few years ago at a big political summit, the king of Spain told the leader of Venezuela to shut up. I thought this was funny so I had it put on a t-shirt; I am selling them here at the café."

Francis looked at Antonio, and then at the t-shirt; he began to frown, just a little.

"Francis, you are making me very anxious."

Francis stood up and pointed at the t-shirt. "Antonio. My very dear Antonio. What is my career?"

Confused, the Spaniard replied, "You – you are a fashion designer. Aren't you?"

"I am indeed. I design elegant and tasteful clothing for men."

Antonio wondered what this had to do with the king of Spain.

"And that t-shirt, Antonio, is neither tasteful nor elegant! That is a tacky, tacky t-shirt!" Francis shuddered. He reached out, as if to grab it from his friend, but it was almost as if he could not make himself touch it. "Please, _cher_ Antonio, get rid of those t-shirts. It makes something in my soul shudder."

"It is not funny?" Antonio asked, bending his head to look at the slogan on the shirt.

"It is most emphatically not funny. Do you not trust me?"

"I – I trust you, Francis." He let his arms drop; the shirt hung from his hands to the floor. "I thought it was a good Spanish tourist item."

"Have you sold many?" Francis tilted his head, eyes narrowed, and stared at the offending garment.

"N-not yet. None, as a matter of fact. And we have been advertising them for two weeks."

"You see? Donate them to a needy charity, a homeless shelter or something, _mon ami_. You can come up with something more refined to sell as a tourist item, I'm sure."

"Maybe." Antonio felt very dejected about all this. "You don't think I'm foolish, do you?"

"Of course not. I'm relying on you!" Francis pinched his cheek and Antonio beamed at him again.

"Let me box up these shirts. I know a place where we can drop them off and then go have some dinner. _S__í_?"

"_S__í_," Francis laughed.

…

_Ah, just a little canon nonsense. I had actually forgotten about that "Café Spain" part of the anime until rewatching season 2 while on vacation._

_Next: A surprising tribute._


	62. A Surprising Tribute

**A Surprising Tribute.**

It was another rainy day in Florence, so Antonio and Francis were seated inside the café with notebooks, calculators, real estate listings and legal documents. Antonio had asked one of his baristas to handle the customers for a while.

Francis was beginning to get worried. After setting his mind on a new life with his dear Spaniard, dreaming of having free rein on the design process at his new fashion house, and even looking at a few small apartments in the city, he had come to a crashing halt when they'd pulled out the calculator.

There was no money.

There was not even enough money for him to rent an apartment! And he was not going to either ask Antonio for money, or ask to move in with him. Francis didn't want to impose on him; he was doing so much already.

"_Merde._" He had to face facts. Francis simply didn't have the money to open his own design house. He might have enough to move to Florence, if he sold almost everything he owned (but oh, the Provençal furniture! The Sèvres china! The Baccarat crystal!). He almost moaned at that thought.

"Calm down, _cari__ñ__o._ We will think of something. Surely you could get a business loan." Antonio got up from the table and took their mugs to the counter for more coffee.

The little bell over the door jingled; a customer walked in. Dejected, Francis put his head in his hands and sighed.

"Francis?" A deep Italian voice came from above him and he looked up, smiling despite his sadness. It was the older gentleman, the fine, attractive one – the first one Francis had ever – had ever – He felt a deep depression at that thought, but smiled politely and greeted the man.

"Are you here on business?" the man asked pleasantly.

_Bien,_ Francis could still be polite, and this math wasn't going to change by him ignoring it. "Please join us," he offered, gesturing to an empty chair. The Italian sat and Francis briefly told him he was here to visit a friend.

At that point Antonio came back with the coffee. "Please," Francis told him, "a coffee for _Monsieur._ My treat," he offered with a smile. Antonio bustled away.

"You don't need to treat me, Francis."

"Eh. It is a gesture, _monsieur._"

"Then thank you."

"What brings you to Florence?" the couturier then asked, sweeping all his notes aside.

"Just a bit of vacation. I'm taking a break before heading to America for a few weeks."

Antonio came back with the new coffee and hesitated, clearly not wanting to intrude. To reassure him, Francis took his hand and introduced them. "My beloved Antonio," he called him. Well, it was a bit bold to say that to a casual acquaintance, but…he did love the Spaniard, always so cheerful despite Francis' depression.

The young brunet sat. "Francis is going to move to Florence and open his own design house."

_Merde._

"That's marvelous!" The Italian shook Francis' hand. "Congratulations. I should start patronizing you." He grinned.

"_Monsieur,_ if I do this – and I'm not entirely certain that I can – there will be no more – no – ah – " He didn't know how to phrase it, not with Antonio sitting right there.

And indeed, the Spaniard's eyes widened; he must have realized this was one of the men Francis had fooled around with. This day was getting worse and worse.

"Oh, Francis, don't be so touchy. I didn't mean that at all." The man sipped his coffee. "Oh! That's why you're not with M. Sébastien any longer!"

Francis nodded sadly.

"But why do you say you can't start your own house? You have more design flair than any man I've ever met. You may not have noticed I'm wearing one of your suits." He waggled his dark eyebrows, and Antonio began to give him the once-over.

"_Oui_, I noticed."

"Then what is the problem? Even discounting clients of M. Sébastien, you'll have plenty of grateful patrons."

Once again Antonio, perhaps trying to be helpful, shoved his oar in. "There is no money," he said, in a calm and patient voice.

No one spoke for several minutes; Francis stared at the notes on the table and let his coffee get cold. He was going to have a serious talk with Antonio later!

Apparently the barista couldn't take the silence. "I've got to – ah – check some things in the back," he said, rising. "I'll rejoin you in a little bit." He rested his hand briefly on Francis' shoulder before leaving.

"_Monsieur,_" Francis began, but the client stopped him.

"You do not even have to ask, my friend. I'm happy to help."

"What? What?" What was he talking about? Francis looked up with a frown and met the deep amber eyes. "I'm sorry, _monsieur,_ I don't understand."

"A fashion house is an investment, no? I have enough faith in your design skills to loan you the money to get you started." The man's eyes were twinkling as he smiled around the edge of his coffee cup.

"You – you –"

"A loan, Francis. A proper business loan, signed, sealed and delivered. Not a gift of money. But you know I have the resources. I'm delighted to help set you up – providing two things."

Francis, still a bit stunned, could only nod.

"As you say – no more fooling around."

"Now that I am with Antonio, I have no need for that," the blond confessed, wanting to be honest with this generous man.

"Very good. And the other thing is that you have to give me preferential treatment over all your other clients!" He began laughing loudly; other café patrons turned to look, then returned to their business.

"Pr-preferential treatment how?" Francis was a bit worried. If he didn't mean fooling around –

"Schedule me first, finish my apparel before that of others, and give me first choice of new fabrics. That sort of thing." He was still laughing, and Francis now began to relax a little. He wondered whether the Italian was serious.

"_Monsieur_ – that is exceedingly helpful, and I thank you. We – because Antonio has lived in Florence, he has been helping me with things like finding a storefront, learning the business laws."

"And that is excellent, my young friend. You need to learn those things yourself to be successful in business."

"But Antonio is a busy man; he owns this café, and he is already sparing too much time to help me. I wonder whether you might recommend someone to assist me with this sort of thing." Without Antonio's help, Francis really would be completely at sea.

"There are companies here – everywhere – designed to help the small businessman get started. I'll find a reputable one for you. All I'm prepared to do is loan you the money. The rest is up to you."

Francis extended his hand and shook that of the client. "_Monsieur,_ if you are serious, I am thrilled to accept your offer of help. I'll even throw in a free suit with the first month's repayment." His eyes twinkled too, now, and both men began laughing together.

He looked up, still laughing, and saw Antonio hiding behind the door to the kitchen, peeking furtively out. Francis gave him a thumbs-up, and Antonio beamed at him.

Ah. Everything would work out just right.

…

_Okay! _Now_ it's complete. Thanks again for reading._


	63. Don't Judge a Book by its Cover

**Epilogue: Don't Judge a Book by its Cover.**

Felicia got off the metro and walked towards the mall. She had the entire day off, and the night, too, and Mazza Gallerie was just the place for some high-quality shopping. Dressed in leopard-print jeans, a skinny black tee, and little rhinestone flats, she pursed her pink lips and whistled happily all the way to the mall entrance.

She reached for the door at the same time as someone else. "Oh! Like, excuse me." She dimpled prettily, looking at the attractive young blond man who was reaching for the door.

"No – please. Allow me." He held the door for her, and after she'd passed through, she waited to thank him.

"It's not a problem," he said, grinning at her. "And I like the leopard print."

Felicia blushed. Ever since Alfred had spurned her advances (both hers and Feliks', to be accurate) she'd been dateless. Maybe this was a sign? "Thank you. I totally like it, too." She smiled at him flirtatiously.

"Might I buy you a cup of coffee?" There was a Starbucks right in front of them. Totally a busman's holiday, Felicia thought, but agreed.

"My name is Felicia," she added, twirling a lock of hair around her finger.

"I'm actually experimenting with different new names. What do you think of Liam?" The young man tilted his head sweetly and led Felicia to the coffee shop.

"You totally don't look like a Liam."

They ordered their coffees and moved to wait for the barista to complete the orders. "Well, what would you say that I look like?"

Felicia was intrigued. It wasn't every day that such an attractive guy was interested in her! "Hm, something more, like, exotic."

"More exotic than Liam? Not being Irish, I thought that was a pretty exotic choice." Not-Liam nodded and they took their drinks to sit together.

"What about, like, Richard?"

"Richard? That's not exotic at all." The young man shook his blond hair violently. "No. Not Richard."

"Roderich?"

Not-Liam considered this, but – "No. Very stuffy. I need a name that's – well – flexible. A name that can be playful, or intellectual, or seductive…" He gave Felicia a flirty grin. "I'd actually been considering Felix," he said.

Felicia yelped. "No, no, no, like, bad idea," she said quickly.

"Why? It's unusual and it makes me think of big cats. I like big cats."

"Like my leopard pants!" They laughed together.

…

In the end, Felicia and Not-Liam spent over three hours in Starbucks, getting acquainted and enjoying each other's company. Both of them were flirting rampantly, and Felicia was wondering whether she dared ask him out – whether she dared tell the truth about herself. Memories of Gilbert had planted caution in her.

"I need to get going," the young man said, rising. "I hadn't realized how late it was."

"Totally," Felicia agreed, a little sadly. They left the shop together. "Will you, like, tell me what your real name is? Since we probably won't see each other again?" She accompanied this with a little pout.

Not-Liam nodded sadly. "I'll tell you the truth, Felicia, since you've been so nice to me." He drew her into a corner of the hallway and looked shyly down at his shoes. "You see – I'm actually a girl. A bisexual girl. My name is Lili. But I like to dress like a boy and flirt with girls. I – I hope you're not angry with me."

"Oh!" Felicia beamed and reached for Lili's hand. "May I, like, tell you something, too? My name is actually Feliks, and I'm totally a bisexual guy. I'm, like, an exotic dancer."

Lili looked up with wide eyes. "Oh! You – oh!"

But her words were cut off as Felicia leaned forward and kissed her cheek. "Lili-Liam," she said with a smile, "will you go out on a date with me?"

"Totally!" Lili laughed, throwing her arms around him and hugging tightly.

…

_Yep. I know. It was supposed to be over. But poor Feliks was out in the cold too._

_Did you guess who Not-Liam was? Liechtenstein and Hungary seemed to be my only two choices for this, and since Liechtenstein and Poland have shared a love of leopard-print clothing in my other stories (notably Anagram Stories), I went with her. I hope they will be very happy and flexible together._

_Thanks for reading!_


	64. A Dance to the Music of Time

**Yet Another Epilogue: A Dance to the Music of Time.** (Nicholas Poussin, oil on canvas, 1636)

Antonio put his chin in his hand and sighed. "_Cari__ñ__o, _I find it so hard to believe we have been together for five years now."

"Five marvelous years," Francis replied, reaching his hand across the elegant restaurant table to clasp his lover's, briefly.

"And your design house is so successful. I knew it would be." The Spaniard favored Francis with one of his beaming smiles, and Francis felt his heart flip over once again.

It was true. His design house was doing very well. He'd been able to pay back that initial business loan within the first year, and he had top-quality clients all over the globe. The business had expanded quite a bit – although Francis had kept it small enough to be manageable; he didn't want to turn it into some frenetic mass-production house.

He'd even successfully changed Antonio's style of dress! No more cheap tees and polo shirts for him, no. Antonio now wore a suit to work every day (although he left off the jacket while bustling around the café, which was also prospering), and always looked elegant. Better than Francis himself, to be honest.

Their personal life had seen many changes over the last five years. From Antonio's humble flat to a remarkable penthouse condominium, filled not only with the beautiful French things Francis had brought to Florence, but also new acquisitions, both useful and decorative. Annual vacations to interesting and exotic places. Every morning Francis awakened and felt very, very content.

This week they had come to Paris to celebrate. Tonight was the anniversary of the day they'd met, the day they'd both felt lightning strike their hearts in the little café. Francis was feeling quite romantic tonight. He gazed affectionately at the Spaniard, who was silently scanning the elegant restaurant with his sunny grin.

The sommelier brought the wine list; Antonio deferred to the blond, who took it and began to leaf through it. There were many interesting and award-winning wines on the list, many from foreign countries; he took his time reading about each one.

Antonio began speaking to him; Francis, absorbed in the list, answered him with vague grunts or the occasional "_oui_." As he read the selections, he grew very sentimental, and made his decision.

The sommelier returned to take their wine order. Smiling, Francis handed the wine list back and told him, "We'll have the Kirkland-Vargas Chardonnay."


End file.
